


There Are Such Things

by castiowl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - The Notebook, Alzheimer's Disease, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Depression, Growing Old Together, Hand Jobs, Implied Natasha/Peggy, Inspired by a Movie, Love Letters, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Slow Dancing, Smut, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, The Notebook AU, Time Skips, Top Steve Rogers, You don't have to have seen/read The Notebook to read this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is part of the Rogers family - rich and nothing like the laborers down by the docks. Nothing like Bucky Barnes. Which is why their relationship is something extraordinary. </p><p>The Steve/Bucky "The Notebook" AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [branstarked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/branstarked/gifts).



> For Rosie's birthday! She's wonderful and terrible because she sends me all the wrong fics that make me cry a lot. Title from Frank Sinatra's "There Are Such Things."
> 
> You don't have to have seen or read The Notebook to read this fic.

Steve Rogers was 18 when he first came to Seabrook Island, South Carolina on June 6, 1940. He was stick-thin with blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that could charm a lady if he tried, but mostly he kept it to himself. He was quiet and resigned and he spent much of his time out of the hot summer sun due to illnesses caused by his unusually weak immune system.

Well, if Steve were being honest with himself, he’d have said it was half his health and half his adoptive parents. They doted on him, kept him indoors and probably would’ve kept him under lock and key if it weren’t for his adoptive sister Natasha.

Nat was nothing like Steve with her bright red hair, constantly grease-covered hands, and an astoundingly adult body given she was only a year younger than Steve. Their physical differences didn’t deter their friendship, however, and they got along like no blood brother and sister ever have. Nat had a cold façade to the outside world that only broke when around Steve or cars. Natasha Rogers loved cars.

If she wasn’t being forced to take piano, being forced to practice for her upcoming cotillion in November, or being forced to study poetry and painting, she could be found in their parents’ spacious garage. Her hair would be tied back, grease stains on her hands, arms, and face, and her tongue sticking out just a fraction from between her teeth. Her face would be scrunched together as she tinkered with an engine or a carburetor or any number of things Steve didn’t understand.

Their parents only allowed Natasha’s strange pastimes because she excelled in every other faction of her education. Steve did not, but his parents didn’t mind so much. As long as his health didn’t decline, he could generally do whatever he wanted.

Steve mostly wanted to draw. He preferred charcoal, but it was inconvenient and messy to keep in his pocket, so he always kept a notepad and pencil with him (often stuck behind one ear).

There were plenty of rumors as to why the affluent Rogers family adopted poor, sickly, orphaned Steve at the age of seven. The prevailing theory was that Natasha threatened to throw the Rogers’ entire inheritance out the window once they died and she came of age so they adopted a child who was older than her to forgo that terrible possibility. Perhaps the theory was true, but it didn’t matter much to Steve or Natasha.

Seabrook Island was beautiful and Steve promised himself he’d take as much time as he could getting the way the sun hit the ocean water, the rays dancing off the undulating waves perfectly in his sketchbook. He found a deserted piece of beach with enough shade from a jagged rock formation to the right that Steve needn’t worry about heat stroke. He spent the first few days there alone for the most part. (Natasha had joined him once, perhaps to humor him.)

A week after arriving, Nat mentioned a carnival to Steve and begged him to come. Natasha had come to Seabrook the previous summer with a girlfriend and her parents, so she already had people to hang out with. Steve, on the other hand, did not.

“You need to get out of this house,” Natasha said and before he could retort she added, “And that piece of beach is just as bad as in here. You need some socialization, Steve. To be around people. They’ll call you a recluse if you’re not careful.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what they call me, Nat. And what the hell am I gonna do at a carnival?”

Nat folded her arms across her chest. That was never a good sign. “It will be fun, Steve,” she said.

“Then why do you sound so serious?”

The carnival was fun. Or, more appropriately, it _looked_ fun. Steve liked the way the lights from the ferris wheel danced across the fairgrounds, coloring the faces and bodies of passersby with yellows, reds, blues, all flickering. He sketched out a rough outline of a young couple, no older than he was, holding hands and sharing cotton candy. He found himself grinning from his perch atop a bench, finding it easier to see by sitting on the back of the bench with his feet in the seat.

Nat had groaned, pushed Steve lightly on the arm when she saw that he was pulling out his sketchpad, and told him to catch up with her later if he stopped being such a freak. She said it with a loving grin, so Steve knew she meant no harm; she never did.

Steve spotted a young man amid Natasha’s group of friends. He was tall and slightly more broad-shouldered than the other boys in the group. He had dark hair and wore a button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his toned arms. Steve remembered Nat saying she met a few guys who worked at the lumberyard and there was no better image of a physical laborer than this young man. Steve put pencil to paper.

Steve traced his pencil down the small of the man’s back, then back up. He filled in shadow around the man’s outstretched hand that was indicating something at the top of the ferris wheel. He erased a line near the man’s other hand, placed easily on his hip.

“Whatcha drawin’ there?”

Steve started and his pencil dropped to the ground. The voice that came from behind him moved to get it for him and handed it to Steve with a grin.

It was him.

“Uh, um,” Steve stuttered, quickly flipping to an empty page while keeping eye contact with the man. “Nothing. Just, um, someone. A stranger. Don’t know.”

“Hm.” A smile played on his lips but whether or not he believed Steve’s lie, he didn’t say a thing. “Bucky,” the man said and he held out a hand.

Steve took it hesitantly. Bucky’s grasp was strong and his hands were rough and callused, although not unpleasant. “Steve,” he replied.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Natasha’s Steve?”

“Not Natasha’s anything,” Steve said and hopped down from the bench. He almost regretted it; he was nearly a head shorter.

Bucky put his hands up defensively. “Sorry. Just Steve, then.” He was smiling and Steve couldn’t help but smile back.

“So, Steve, what are you doing over here while the rest of us are having fun?” Bucky asked.

Steve stuck the pencil behind his ear and shoved his notepad and his hands in his pockets. “Ah, I’m not one for rides,” he said in lieu of a better response.

“Oh, c’mon, Stevie. We’re gonna ride the ferris wheel.” At that, Bucky swung one arm around Steve’s neck and half-pushed, half-led Steve to the line. Natasha was already ahead in the line with a boy and two other girls and she waved at Steve happily. Steve waved back with a sheepish grin.

“Look, I don’t have any–,” Steve started, but Bucky was already holding out a ticket to him.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said with a wink that made Steve blush in spite of himself. He was grateful for the discolored lights.

The wait wasn’t long and soon he and Bucky were climbing into a seat together. It should have felt awkward, but Bucky’s presence was so encompassing and laid back that it was far from it.

“You afraid of heights?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked up through the metal bars, thick wires, and dangling legs and shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Bucky laughed at that. “You ain’t ever been on a ferris wheel?”

Steve shook his head once and then the wheel began to turn.

“Hey, Buck!” someone called from above. Bucky turned in his seat.

“Tony!” Bucky called back, a big easy grin on his face.

“We’re going to the movies tomorrow. You coming?” Tony shouted back.

“You bet!” Bucky turned back to Steve. “You wanna come?”

Steve studied Bucky’s face, looking for some sign that this was an elaborate prank: pick on the scrawny kid who doesn’t have friends and is too trusting. But Bucky’s blue eyes (very blue, Steve noted, very very blue) and eager smile were way too innocent for this to be a joke. Or it was a very cruel joke. Steve liked to think it was the former.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

Bucky laughed easily and Steve smiled. “Are you kidding? Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steve couldn’t help his tight-lipped smile turning into a full-fledged grin. “All right,” he said.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied.

“Yeah.”

They reached the top and the ferris wheel stopped. Bucky let out a breath. It was strangely quiet atop the ride, like all the world below was much farther away than fifty feet. Steve liked it.

“Guess I’m not afraid of heights,” Steve said.

Bucky put his left arm around Steve to clap him on the left shoulder and then let his arm rest behind him on the seat’s back. “Knew you’d like it,” Bucky said.

“So you work at the lumberyard?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Me, Tony, a few of the other guys here, although God knows where they went off to.”

“Do you… like working there?” Steve knew it was a strange question but he was genuinely curious. However, he wasn’t expecting the soul-searching look Bucky gave him in reply.

“You’re strange, Steve, y’know that?” Bucky said.

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

  


* * *

  


Steve arrived at the theater with Natasha, nervously flattening his tie just to keep his hands busy because Natasha had forced him to leave his sketchpad behind. They were the last two to show up and although Steve had expected a crowd – namely, the group from the carnival – he was pleasantly surprised to see just three others waiting outside the theater. Tony was there with a lopsided grin pointed in Bucky’s general direction who was telling some ostensibly funny story. There was a girl, too, that Steve didn’t recognize. She had gently curled blond hair and pink lipstick and she squealed when she spotted Natasha.

Natasha was wearing some flowing dress made of silks and tulle that she genuinely liked (“Just because I like cars doesn’t mean I don’t like dresses, idiot,” Natasha had said.) and it billowed out behind her as she half-ran to embrace her friend.

“Steve, this is Sharon,” Natasha said as Steve joined them, feeling exceedingly smaller with everyone’s attention turned toward him. “And Tony and Bucky, but you’ve already met them, I think?”

Tony stuck out his hand and grinned. Steve shook it. “Uh, yeah,” Steve said. “Sort of.”

“Well, let’s go. We’re gonna be late!” Sharon said and pulled Natasha by the hand into the theater.

“What are we seeing?” Steve asked to no one in particular.

Bucky shrugged. “Tony and Sharon got here first so they picked. For better or worse. Either way, they bought the tickets so I can’t complain.” He smiled easily at Steve as they walked into the darkened theater.

Steve couldn’t say what the movie was about; he had been very distracted for a majority of it since after five minutes in, Bucky’s arm had made its way around the back of Steve’s chair. Bucky’s hand was pressed ever so slightly against his shoulder, enough that there would be plausible deniability if he got called out. But Steve wasn’t about to do that. Instead, he leaned into it and in his peripheral he noticed the small smile pulling at the edge of Bucky’s mouth.

This was a dangerous game but Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy every terrifying moment of it.

After the movie, Tony offered everyone a ride home in his car. Bucky declined and gave Steve a pointed look that Steve prayed he was reading right; he declined the ride, too, and said he’d walk home with Bucky.

Natasha gave Steve a quick, sly smile before climbing into Tony’s car with Sharon and driving off.

It was nearly 10 at night, the streets were empty and the shops were closed as Bucky and Steve made their way downtown. They walked leisurely. The air was warm and they were still close enough to the ocean to get the occasional breeze that smelled like salt and sand.

“You must see a lot of movies back in Charleston?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged and dug his hands deep in his pockets. “Not really. The social scene is more Nat’s thing. I’m more of a stay-at-home type, I guess.” Steve felt himself blush. He’d never felt embarrassed about his introversions until now.

Bucky made a disbelieving noise. “Then what the hell do you do for fun, Rogers?” he asked. Steve opened his mouth to talk but Bucky cut in: “And don’t tell me 'draw' because that’s too easy.”

Steve thought a moment. “I don’t know. I like... music?”

Bucky nodded. “That’s a start. I bet you know how to dance like a real gentleman.” He was smiling at Steve devilishly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “No. Never learned. Not interested.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks and Steve turned toward him. Bucky’s brow was furrowed and his hands came to rest on his hips. Steve swallowed and forced his eyes back up.

“What sorta rich boy are you, anyway? Don’t know how to dance…” Bucky trailed off then he walked straight into the street.

“Bucky? What the hell are you–? You’re in the street!” Steve said helplessly.

“Well, yeah, there’s no room on the damned sidewalk. Now c’mon!” He held his arms out and Steve blanched. _He wanted to dance._

“Oh, I don’t… I don’t think.” Steve looked around nervously.

Bucky rolled his eyes and let his arms drop. “No one’s out. Do you wanna learn or not?”

Steve steeled himself. “There’s no music,” he muttered as his feet carried him to Bucky.

When Steve got close enough, Bucky took Steve’s hands, placing one on his right bicep and keeping the other in his hand. Bucky’s right hand came around and rested just below Steve’s shoulder blade. He had seen Natasha in this position any number of times.

“How come I’m the girl?” Steve asked lightly.

“Because I’m leading. Next time we can switch.” Bucky said it like it was nothing, as if Steve should have always assumed there would be a next time.

“Okay, do you know the box step?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. Okay, just follow my lead. Step back.” Bucky lightly guided him back and Steve tried not to step on his toes. Bucky counted under his breath: one, two, three. Then he started humming something tuneless.

“You’re a terrible singer,” Steve said.

“I know.”

Soon, Steve felt the rhythm and was keeping up with Bucky.

“See? Easy,” Bucky said. “Knew you could do it.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Steve replied but he couldn’t help but smile. He watched their feet move in near perfect sync. Then he felt Bucky let go of his right hand to touch Steve’s chin.

“Keep your head up,” he said and took Steve’s hand again.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” Steve asked.

“My mom taught me before she died. Said it was important to know in case I needed to sweep a girl off her feet or something.” Bucky was still smiling but there was something bitter about it.

“And did you?”

“Hm?”

“Sweep a girl off her feet with your dancing?”

“Not really my area,” Bucky replied. “Let’s try turning.”

“What?” Steve half shouted, but he was already being lightly pushed into a turn and he somehow didn’t fall flat on his face. He was surprised at how easy it all was, but he was fairly certain it was more Bucky’s leadership than any inherent gift for dance Steve had.

“I knew you’d get the—”

A car horn bellowed behind Steve and as he turned, headlights blinded him. He ran for the sidewalk, feeling Bucky pulling his arm just ahead of him. He stumbled forward as he reached the curb. Steve’s heart was pounding out of his chest as the car sped past, the driver yelling an assortment of profanities at them.

Steve was bent over, trying to catch his breath and Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, Steve, I nearly got you killed.”

But Steve just shook his head and smiled. Then, and perhaps it was the adrenaline or the absolutely ridiculous situation or how comfortably close he was to Bucky at that very moment, but Steve started laughing. It was real laughter, deep-chested, the kind only Natasha could get out of him and even that was a rare occasion.

Bucky’s grin was lopsided as he asked, “What the hell are you laughing at? We nearly died!”

Steve just shook his head again and laughed and breathed and then the coughing started. Hacking coughs that sounded more terrible than they were. Probably.

“Shit.” Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulders. “Sit down,” he said.

Steve did as he was told as his lungs protested against the warm air. Steve closed his eyes, breathed deep through his nose and out through his mouth until, after long minutes had passed, he was breathing normal again. It was then he realized the warmth radiating from Bucky who was sitting next to him, his side pressed into his, and his hand placed in the middle of Steve’s back.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve hazarded a look at him and saw only pure worry. Steve had expected derision or disgust, but Bucky’s eyes were wide and pained. Steve hated that look and he smiled to get rid of it.

“Yeah. Sorry. Asthma. I’m… kind of a mess.”

“You scared the shit outta me,” Bucky said, but he physically relaxed, the tension easing out of his shoulders.

“Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing. It was my fault. Shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Bucky stared at the road with a particular shade of self-hatred Steve was all too familiar with.

“Don’t,” Steve said, knocking his knee against Bucky’s. “That was the most fun I’ve had in… Well, it’s been awhile.” He breathed out a long breath. “People walk around me like I’m made of glass, which, all right, I kind of am. But I’m still a person, y’know? I like doing things, having fun, going on adventures.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Low-key adventures,” Steve corrected. It grew quiet, then he added in a low voice, “No one’s ever done something so reckless with me. And I genuinely liked it. Is that bad?”

Bucky smiled wide. “Not bad at all, Stevie.”

Steve lingered too long on Bucky’s mouth and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick, chaste, and somewhat awkward given their sitting positions. Steve quickly drew back and covered his mouth with a hand. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, I’m– I never– I didn’t mean– I tripped.”

 _Fuck_. He watched Bucky’s face in horror, waited for the realization that what Steve had done was absolutely on purpose and he’s just a disgusting pervert that should be locked up and did he seriously just say “I tripped”?

But Bucky simply looked surprised. If Steve were being bold, he’d even call it pleasantly surprised. He swallowed hard. Bucky’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth and back to his eyes. Then, he leaned in and kissed Steve right on the mouth.

Steve let out an embarrassing, strangled sort of noise that made Bucky smile into the kiss and damn it all if that didn’t make it even better.

When Bucky pulled back, he was flushed and it was pretty much the most amazing sight Steve had ever laid eyes on. Fuck the ocean; this is what he should’ve been sketching for the past week. The way Bucky’s eyelashes touched his cheek when he looked down. The way his smile seemed to start on one side and then it would encompass his face, reaching his eyes. The way his hair would fall over his forehead and he’d push it back with one devastatingly beautiful hand.

“Sorry,” Buck said with a devilish smirk. “I tripped.”

  


* * *

  


Steve knocked on the tall oak door and didn’t wait for a reply before opening it and letting himself into Natasha’s room. It was large (as with most of the rooms in the summer home they were temporary residents of) with huge windows that faced west – perfect for watching the sunset. Natasha, however, was sitting on her bed against the far wall paging through a manual with intricate charts and diagrams. She glanced up at Steve when he walked in.

“Please, come in. Thanks for asking,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Sorry. It’s… important.”

“Is it about yesterday night? Because honestly, if it’s not, I really don’t care.”

“It’s about yesterday night.”

“I’m all ears.” Natasha shut the manual, scooted over on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Steve obliged, sitting on the edge and tucking one foot under his thigh.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. Where to begin.

“Remember that thing that I did that we both said we would never ever talk about ever again and then that other thing that _you_ did that we swore to never ever talk about ever again?” Steve’s eyes were wide and hopeful.

Natasha bit her bottom lip but didn’t reply.

“Well, I’m invoking the right to talk about that thing,” Steve continued.

She still just stared at him with a look that was clearly supposed to be neutral but looked more pained.

“Okay, I’m invoking the right to talk about that thing… adjacent. Just my side. Does the judge find my plea acceptable?” He gave her a half-smile which she returned in kind.

“The judge has to go to her chambers and discuss this with her better judgment.” She paused a moment. “The judge has returned and her ruling is… talk quietly and quickly because these are dangerous waters, Steve.”

“The defendant thanks you, your honor.” He repositioned himself on the bed a little to give himself time to think. “What do you know about Bucky, exactly?”

Natasha studied Steve’s face carefully before answering. “Not a lot. Met him when I came here last summer. He’s very handsome, and funny and smart for a kid with basically no education. Self-taught, I think, after dropping out of high school to work? He lives with his dad down on Copper Drive and his mom died, I’m pretty sure. He’s 20. Um. What else? Oh yeah. Despite the bravado and wildly flirtatious remarks, he has absolutely no interest in any of the girls on this island or possibly Earth.” She batted her eyes innocently as Steve nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That’s, um, that may explain why he kissed me.”

Natasha’s slow smile was enough to make Steve blush. But her smile faded quickly. “No one saw you?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t think so? It was dark. I don’t know.”

“Steve. Shit. I mean, that’s great. But you have _got_ to be careful.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Steve asked sharply. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Then he fell back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Did you kiss him back?” she asked, so quiet it was barely a whisper.

Steve nodded. “I actually kissed him first.”

“I’m so proud,” Natasha said with surprise evident in her voice.

It grew quiet again. Steve finally sat up. “This is a bad idea, isn’t it?” He looked at Natasha, expecting a reproachful look because _yes of course this is a bad idea. This is the mother of bad ideas_.

But she just shrugged one of her shoulders and said, “I always said you needed a little more adventure in your life.”

  


* * *

  


Steve fell asleep that night dreaming about all things he would be doing with Bucky over the summer – some more appropriate than others. The next few weeks were going to be astoundingly unreal and extraordinary and everything Steve had never let himself dream about since he was 12 years old and discovered that seeing Johnny Philips changing in the locker room gave him _feelings_.

And, for the first few days, Bucky and Steve spent practically every hour together save when Bucky was working or Steve was forced to attend stuffy luncheons with his parents’ friends. On the fourth day, however, when Bucky came by the Rogers’, Natasha answered the door, gave Bucky a sympathetic look, and told him Steve was under the weather and wouldn’t be able to leave the house.

Steve had forced Natasha to promise not to let Bucky in to see him because he knew Bucky would try, and it would kill him to be seen like this. Natasha made the promise.

Natasha also broke the promise with a halfhearted shrug and a look that meant she wasn’t actually all that sorry about it as she sidestepped Bucky at Steve’s bedroom door. She turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her. Bucky quickly padded over to where Steve was laying in his bed. Steve groaned and covered his face with the blanket.

Bucky chuckled and said, “Steve, are you all right?”

Steve let out a breath and resurfaced to stare into Bucky’s astoundingly blue eyes. They were close as Bucky was now sitting on the floor with his elbow propped up on the bed. “Natasha promised she wouldn’t let you in.”

“I told Natasha that if she didn’t let me see you, I’d personally tell her mother that the date she went on with Tony wasn’t so much a date as it was a chance for Natasha to get a look at his jalopy of a car.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Steve said, only half-sure he was right.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Bucky agreed with a small smile. “But seriously. You look terrible. You okay?”

Steve waved his hand above his head. “It’s a cold. It’s nothing.”

“You're disgusting, Stevie,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve pouted. It was true. Last time he’d been up to the bathroom, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; sickly pale with cold sweat and a hacking cough did not a gentleman make.

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve gently. Steve pulled back slightly. “Buck, I don’t want to get you sick,” he said quietly, glancing at the door suspiciously.

“But you’re so cute when you’re sick,” Bucky teased. “And I’m not gonna get sick. I’ve got the immune system of a regular human being, unlike you.”

“Fine. But you can’t stay here all day. Go out with Tony. Don’t let me stop you from having fun,” Steve said.

“What could be more fun than being here with you?” And it was so cheesy Steve knew he was being sincere. Bucky laid his head on his arm and watched as Steve’s eyes slowly started to close, fever-warm as he was.

When Steve was nearly asleep, Bucky said in a low voice, “I wish I could crawl in bed with you and hold you till you were better.”

Steve snorted a laugh that made him cough. “That’d be a great way to get my parents to hate you,” Steve murmured tiredly.

Steve felt the bed move a little and when he forced his eyes open just a little, he saw that Bucky’s were closed and he was breathing deep and slow.

  


* * *

  


Steve recovered slowly and Bucky was there every day to make sure he was eating and drinking properly while he did so. By day four, Steve was feeling well enough that his parents gave him permission to leave the house. Promising to stick to leisurely activities, Bucky and Steve left in Bucky’s old truck he usually brought to work.

Like the days before Steve’s illness, they spent their time on the hidden stretch of beach that Steve had once called his own. It was a favorite hideaway now, safe from any nosy passersby on the road.

A couple weeks passed in a haze of sun, surf, and a feeling of sheer euphoria Steve had never known the like of before. He only wished it could last forever, but every time his mind would travel to the end of his summer in just a week’s time, it felt as though a jagged rock dropped into the pit of his stomach, forcing him to catch his breath and think of something else.

Steve sat on a flat rock on the shore and watched Bucky as he dove into wave after wave, perfectly at ease with the rough surf.

Steve drew Bucky. He drew him dripping wet and stretching his arms over his head as he came to join Steve, his hair pushed back and his eyes bright and slightly pink from the salt water. He drew him laying prostrate on a towel, half-asleep with suntanned muscles that moved ever so slightly when he breathed and even more when Steve made him laugh. He drew him looking out at the water as the sun set behind them, eyes heavy and half-lidded, a small and seemingly eternal smile on his full lips.

Bucky put a towel down and sat next to Steve on the rock. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth once before glancing over at Steve’s sketchbook. If it were any other person Steve would refuse, but it was Bucky.

Bucky made a noise and said, “You draw me a lot, Stevie. I’m starting to think you’ve got a crush.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and innocent and in his best southern drawl said, “Not at all, Mr. Barnes. Can’t a man appreciate another man’s beauty?”

Bucky laughed. “Okay, tell me the truth. The first night we met at the carnival, I asked what you were drawing. What was it?” The look in Bucky’s eye told Steve that he already knew the answer to his question, but Steve felt obliged to respond anyway.

He turned several pages back in the sketchpad and showed Bucky. It wasn’t finished – it had been dark out and Steve never went back to touch it up, not since the subject of the drawing was so much closer and clearer now.

“Damn, Rogers,” Bucky said, taking the sketchpad and looking more closely at it. “You really got my good side.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t honestly think you have a bad side.”

Bucky laughed loudly then took Steve’s chin in his hand and pressed his lips to Steve’s. It started chaste, but he always felt like it wasn’t enough with Bucky. He opened his mouth and he felt Bucky’s tongue slide in, caress his own. Steve whimpered and Bucky’s lips turned up in a smile before coming together to suck on Steve’s bottom lip. Steve’s hand found purchase on Bucky’s arms and then his bare chest and lower until he heard Bucky let out a low moan. It was Steve’s turn to smile. Bucky’s noises were rare but well deserved in his opinion and they made Steve hungry in a way he didn’t think a simple sound could ever make him.

Bucky pulled back and it was cruel how good he looked with his lips red and wet. Steve would swoon if he weren’t on a rock that would probably snap his neck or something when he fell.

“Sorry,” Bucky said quietly with the dumbest smile on his face. “I tripped.”

Steve let out a short laugh. “You’ll never let that go, will you?” he asked.

Bucky feigned innocence. “Let what go? It was an innocent mistake. Frankly, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Oh, did your tongue slip, too?” Steve asked.

“It’s been known to happen.” The smile he gave Steve was huge and wicked and _God, how did he get this lucky?_

Bucky leaned back on his hands, closed his eyes, and titled his head back, basking in the sun that was getting dangerously close to the western horizon. Steve closed his sketchbook and stuck the pencil behind his ear.

“If you’re not busy tonight, I’d like to show you something,” Bucky said. He spoke with uncommon clarity which piqued Steve’s interest. This was clearly important to him even if his posture tried to say otherwise.

“I’m not busy,” Steve replied. “What is it?”

Bucky grinned wide and hopped off the rock in one graceful movement that Steve couldn’t help but envy. Bucky waited for Steve to follow suit before they walked to the road where Bucky’s truck was parked under a great elm tree.

The thing Bucky wanted to show Steve turned out to be a haunted house.

“Are you going to murder me?” Steve asked lightly.

Bucky scoffed. “Shut up, Rogers, and get out of the car.”

Steve did so and followed Bucky through the uncut lawn that was now more thistles than grass. The house was big; Steve could tell that just by looking at the outside. It had a wrap-around porch and bay windows that framed the massive front door. The infrastructure, however, like the paint and the lawn, was deteriorated and downright spooky.

Bucky pushed heavily on the front door until it opened with a painful scraping noise. The inside was just as drab. Every surface was covered in dust and their footsteps kicked up sand that had been blown in from an ostensibly broken window somewhere. Steve took in everything and found it surprisingly beautiful. He could picture the place in its glory days with white walls and alabaster railings going up the now broken staircase. Steve wondered how many rooms were upstairs but got distracted by Bucky who was making his way over to a piano.

“Are you going to play me something?” Steve asked.

Bucky snorted. “This thing’s probably so out of tune that whatever I’d play would sound good.” Instead, Bucky pulled at the bench, sat down, and stared around the place. “I’m going to buy it.”

“Buy it? The… The house?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Once I get enough money. I’ve got some saved.” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll buy it and fix it up real pretty. It’ll be a lot of work. The walls are moldy and rotted through but the main infrastructure is actually pretty solid.” Bucky stood up and strode over to Steve, taking him by the hand and leading him into the next room. “Look,” he said, and Steve did. It was a large room with three massive windows, one with a broken left corner, that overlooked the ocean. Steve hadn’t realized they were so close. “I’m gonna paint this white. Real white. And we can get new flooring and a proper chandelier or something.” Bucky’s eyes were wide and childlike with excitement. Steve smiled and realized that he’s probably the first person Bucky’s ever taken here.

“There are four bedrooms upstairs. I’ll convert one into a workshop…” Bucky trailed off, looking around the old house like he was imagining it brand new.

“Don’t I get a say?” Steve asked with a sly smile.

Bucky turned to him looking pleasantly surprised. “You want a say?”

“Yeah. I want one of those rooms to be my studio.”

“Oh, is that all?” Bucky asked.

“No. I want it to overlook the ocean.”

Bucky hummed appreciatively. “All right,” he said, stepping closer to Steve. “A studio it is.” He leaned down and kissed Steve and Steve kissed back, wrapping one arm around Bucky’s back and the other into his hair.

Bucky crouched a little so he could pick Steve up and he obligingly wrapped his legs around Bucky’s middle. Bucky let him down in the main room on a blanket he hadn’t noticed when he first came in.

It was definitively dark outside and he could only just see the outline of Bucky against what little moonlight was coming through the front window. Yet he could feel Bucky’s eyes on him and Steve felt more naked now than he did not twenty minutes earlier shirtless on the beach.

“What is it?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Nothing. I just…” He trailed off, taking a seat on the blanket next to Steve

Steve leaned forward so he was inches from Bucky’s face. “Tell me,” Steve said. “Promise I won’t laugh.”

Bucky bit his lip and Steve watched with a mixture of pleasure and pain because he wanted nothing more than for those teeth to be on him.

“I think I’m in love with you, Stevie,” Bucky said. Steve could see Bucky’s eyes as they studied Steve’s face like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

Steve liked to think he looked calm and collected but the heat that immediately rose to his face was more than likely giving him away. “I think I’m in love with you too,” Steve replied quietly.

“Good.” And with that, Bucky’s mouth was on Steve’s. Steve’s hands were restless until finally he forwent all social niceties and started unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt. He pushed it off of him gleefully and Bucky was quick to return the favor, pulling Steve’s shirt over his head. With a large, warm hand, Bucky lightly pushed on Steve’s chest so he was on his back, Bucky standing over him on all fours. Bucky kissed Steve again, open-mouthed and hot and breathy until Steve’s pants were far too tight to still be on. Bucky’s chest was just barely touching Steve’s and when he ground down with his hips, Steve let out a choked gasp. Steve’s hands wandered down and he cupped Bucky through his jeans. The moan it elicited from Bucky could have singlehandedly made Steve come if his pants weren’t so damned tight. Bucky reached down to unbutton them when suddenly the door burst in.

Bucky reeled back in shock and Steve shouted, “Natasha, what the hell?”

“Shit,” Bucky said.

“No, Buck, it’s okay, she knows,” Steve said, holding out a placating hand.

“You need to get home. Now,” Natasha said, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m sorry Steve. They know. Someone saw you at the beach. I don’t know who. They told Mom and Dad. They sent the cops out to look for you. They think… They think Bucky’s done something to you. I tried to tell them it wasn’t like that, but they’re not listening.”

“Fuck,” Steve said.

  


* * *

  


Steve saw the red and blue flashing lights before he saw their house and the bile that had been growing in his stomach threatened to rise. He swallowed, closed his eyes and tapped his foot nervously against the floor. A warm hand on his knee brought him back and he gave Bucky what was supposed to be a sympathetic look but probably came off just looking terrified.

Steve wished Natasha had come with him but the only reason she was able to warn him was because she said she was out looking for him, so she had to keep that cover or risk exposing where they were.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s knee then pulled up the driveway, coming to a stop. Steve breathed out once. No one had noticed their arrival yet. Everyone was either inside or out looking for them so Steve took a moment to prepare himself.

“You can leave once I get out. I’m just…” Steve tried to think of a way to say “absolutely fucking terrified” without actually saying it, but he came up empty.

“I’m not going anywhere, Stevie,” Bucky said and his voice was deeper, more serious. Steve shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.

His mom saw him first, coming out of the front door flanked by two police officers. She cried out his name and hugged him tightly. “Ma, I’m okay,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Steve, we were scared out of our minds!” she said. “There were rumors, Steve and I–“

“Steve!” Steve’s father came at him at a brisk walk and Steve backed up a step. He was red in the face, but whatever he was going to say was quickly swallowed as he turned to the two officers. “Thank you, officers. We’ll take it from here.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Rogers.”

“Anytime.”

The policemen departed and Steve chanced a look behind him where Bucky stood at the foot of the stairs, his hands in his pockets and somehow not looking absolutely guilty like Steve knew he probably did.

“Dad, I–," Steve started.

“Inside,” his father barked. “Now.”

Steve went inside but turned when he heard Bucky say, “Sir, if you’d let me explain–“

Steve’s father rounded on him. “You stay there,” he snapped. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

Bucky had sense enough not to reply. Steve gave him a pointed look before heading into the main room. He stood in the middle and waited as his father and mother joined him.

“Well?” his father started. His face was stern and unreadable. His mother, however, had always been an open book and she looked stuck between worry and exhaustion.

“Well, what? Look, I’m sorry I scared you. I never meant to! We just lost track of time, that’s all!” Steve said.

“It’s not the time I’m worried about, Steven. It’s not where you were or how late, it’s who the hell you’ve been spending your time with. That boy is- He’s nothin’ but trouble! Mrs. Penn from next door said she saw–“

“Mrs. Penn is lying, Dad!” Steve shouted. “Bucky’s– He’s just– I like hanging out with him!”

His father rubbed his forehead. “Just tell me,” he said in a calmer voice that wasn’t any less frightening, “that what she said isn’t true. Tell me that, Steve.”

Steve bit his lip. “What’d she say she saw?” he asked, trying his best to look as innocent as possible.

“I won’t repeat it,” his father snapped.

“She said you two were,” his mother started, then grew red and stopped. “She saw you,” she finished.

“Look, I don’t know what she’s talking about, okay? We were just at the beach. That’s it!” Steve held out his hands then let them fall to his sides.

His father studied his face, looking for some trace of a lie, but Steve wouldn’t let him see it. Not today.

“I want you in bed. Now,” his father said, measured and cool. “And no more spending time with this boy.”

“Dad, no–!” Steve shouted, stepping towards him.

“That’s final!” It was a roar more than anything else. Steve shook with fury. His father pointed a finger at the hall and Steve went to his room.

He slammed the door and let himself cry, wiping angrily at his face in a vain attempt to stop. He let out a shaky breath. Then, once he’d gathered himself enough to walk, Steve went to the window. The screen wasn’t difficult to pop out and then it was a four-foot drop to some waist-high beach grass on the far side of the house.

He sneaked around and saw that the porch light was off and Bucky’s car was gone. Steve stopped in his tracks and prayed that Bucky had had enough sense to leave before his father got to him.

“Steve.”

Steve jumped, spinning around and nearly falling on his face.

“Bucky!” Steve hissed. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” It was dark and there was only half a moon giving them light, but Steve could see Bucky’s face. He was withdrawn and cold in a way he had never been around Steve.

“Jesus, Bucky. Did… Did my dad?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s fine. I, uh, parked around the corner.”

“Look, I don’t care what he says, Buck. I love you and I… Well, I want to be with you and I don’t care if we have to sneak around and–“

“Steve, stop.”

He did, his heart in his throat and so close to the edge of a panic attack it was getting harder to breathe. “Buck?” he whispered desperately.

Bucky made a frustrated noise, turned and kicked at the dirt. “Fuck, Steve. This wasn’t– You and me? We were never gonna work out, were we? I mean, how could it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve snapped.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Bucky yelled and Steve recoiled. “Shit.” Bucky rubbed his eyes. “New York, Steve? Were you ever gonna tell me about that? Huh? You’re leaving. You’re going far away and I’m gonna be here. I’ll be working while you’re off getting your fucking education and how could I be so stupid?”

“I was going to tell you!” Steve swore and he _was_ going to tell him he was but now it was too late. “It doesn’t matter, Buck. We can… we can figure this out! You and me. Together. Please, Buck.”

Bucky let out a humorless laugh. “Oh yeah? Figure it out? What? Am I gonna come to New York with you?”

It was sarcasm, but Steve latched on to it anyway. “Yeah! Yes! Come to New York with me!”

“And do what?!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he screamed and Steve knew they were risking being heard but now Bucky was crying and Steve had to fix this.

Steve looked at Bucky, eyes wide and hopeful. “And be with me.”

Bucky shook his head slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Steve. It’s not that easy. I’m not gonna be your– your trophy wife that you keep hidden away while you’re off making friends and doing things with your life.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bucky shook his head again and started to walk away but Steve grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Steve asked. “Are you? Because if you are, you’d better say so. You better have the fucking guts to say so, Bucky.”

“Bye, Steve.”

Steve let Bucky’s wrist fall out of his grasp and watched, in the worst pain of his life, as Bucky Barnes walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve Rogers is 24 when he returns to Seabrook Island, South Carolina. He’s no longer stick-thin, but his blonde hair, blue eyes, and warm smile remain largely unchanged. Indeed, Steve has grown in every way imaginable, evident in his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and trim waist. He thanks penicillin mostly, as well as his addiction to starting fights with problems much bigger than he is.

One such problem (since resolved) is sitting next to him in the smoky bar on the main stretch of Seabrook; her name is Peggy Carter and she is everything that's right with this otherwise deplorable decade. She’s beautiful with high cheekbones and velvet smooth skin. Her dark hair is impeccably curled and placed beneath a hat and she wears the hell out of lipstick and tall heels. She’s also the most passionate, fiery, and staunchly independent woman he’s ever met.

Their love was something extraordinary. As Clint had so facetiously asked: what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force? Steve had rolled his eyes and Peggy had scoffed at the drunken grin on Clint's face as if he'd come up with the idiom himself. Still, it was an apt comparison. Steve, the hardheaded, stubbornly immovable object. Peggy the nuclear force whose properties certainly consisted, and still do consist, of "unstoppable". 

Watching her now, Steve wonders—not for the first time—what may have come had they stayed together.

Their current relationship is something he cherishes, on par with his brotherly affections for Sam, and as she laughs at some decidedly hilarious part of Clint's long-winded story, Steve finds himself staring. She catches his eye and the smile reaches her eyes, one perfectly trimmed eyebrow arching in question to his expression.

He smiles back and averts his gaze to Clint. 

"In another life, perhaps." 

That's what she had said to him when they broke it off. Just because it was mutual, however, didn't make it easy.

Perhaps if he'd been more giving, less stubborn, more capable, less... _immovable._

There was nothing to be done about it. He appreciated what they had. He _does_ appreciate it. She's the unstoppable force and he's just along for the ride.

Natasha kicks Steve’s shin under the table and he glances up at her across four empty mugs of beer. All of them are Clint and Sam’s, Steve’s friends from university who have tagged along despite fervent warnings from Steve about the South and racism and prejudice and discrimination and _Jesus Sam you’re going to come anyway, aren’t you?_ Sam absolutely came.

Nat gives Steve a small smile and a raised eyebrow, but he shakes his head and rejoins the conversation.

Peggy is explaining to Clint why it’s so important that women keep their jobs now that the men are back from the war in a sharp English accent Steve still finds mildly attractive in spite of himself. Clint’s brow is furrowed and he leans forward, nearly tipping over a bottle of beer in his half-inebriated state. Sam steadies it and gives Steve a small smile when he catches his eye.

“But, but, like, what about all the guys, right? The guys who,” Clint hiccups and, okay, maybe he’s _fully_ inebriated, “like, they’re back from war? And they need jobs?”

“Well, what’s so wrong with men staying at home?” Peggy seems to find nothing odd in having an intelligent conversation with a drunk veteran. “Women have been doing it for centuries; isn’t it time to give us a chance to contribute to society in ways that aren’t defined by our bodies and what we produce with them?”

Clint makes a noise that’s something like a grunt and says, “Yeah, well, you _would_ say that. You’ve got a job. Like, a really good job. And it’s totally secret or whatever but, like, you get paid a lot?” Clint waves his hand and leans a little toward Sam. Sam steadies him with a strong hand and a chuckle.

Steve empties his bottle. “I’m, uh, gonna get another. Nat, you want one?”

She shakes her head and instead turns her attention to Clint. “Maybe it’s time for you two to go home, huh?” she says.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Sam says and tugs at Clint’s arm. He follows without much of a fight but a little stumbling.

Clint leans in close to Sam and Sam recoils a little, glancing around, but any stares he got while entering the bar have diverted their attention elsewhere in a pointed manner. Steve’s found that having the combined muscle mass of 500 pounds between himself, Clint, and Sam deters most racially-induced comments in Seabrook. That and the fact that the Rogers family is well-known for their wealth and contributions to a number of local businesses on the island.

Steve excuses himself from the table after Clint and Sam leave and he heads to the bar. He motions to the bartender who nods at him, indicating he’ll be there once he’s finished making drinks for three other men on the corner.

Steve lets out a long breath. Being back has brought back strange memories, ones he’s not entirely comfortable remembering. This bar, at least, is new. He’d had no interest in getting drunk that summer despite Natasha’s teasing about being a lightweight. But cigarette smoke always made his eyes water, and then there was the asthma.

Now it’s one of the very few places he can look around and not feel accosted by feelings he would have sworn were buried deep. 

“Not from around here, huh?”

Steve turns toward the voice and replies, “No, I’m not. How did you–?” He stops when he sees the man sitting a few stools down with a partially finished finger of whiskey in his hand.

“You’re lookin’ around like you’ve never seen this place.” The man shrugs. “Just a guess.”

Steve swallows and his knuckles are white as he clutches the edge of the bar.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender is back and it takes Steve a good few seconds to pry his eyes away because it’s _him_.

It’s _Bucky_.

Steve licks his lips and replies, “A, uh, just another beer. Bud.” The bartender obliges and Steve takes the stool next to Bucky.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him and Bucky downs his glass. He twirls it on the table. 

“I came here once before,” Steve says and Jesus, he can’t believe it because it’s Bucky and he’s here and he’s _older_ and different but fuck if he isn’t just as beautiful as Steve remembers. As beautiful as the sketches tucked away in the back of his closet somewhere that he absolutely does _not_ page through every once in awhile just so he can remember again.

Bucky nods a little and turns to look at Steve with heavy-lidded eyes. He’s drunk, Steve realizes. That and the cloud of smoke plus dim lighting plus Steve’s significant change in physicality means Bucky has no idea who he is. Part of Steve wants to keep it that way.

The other part wants to take Bucky’s face and kiss every inch of him, every dark circle and laugh line, until he remembers.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says and Steve forgot they were having something of a conversation.

Steve swallows hard and re-angles the stool so he’s facing Bucky. Bucky’s eyes are unfocused but when Steve moves they land on his chest, then his neck, then his face. Bucky blinks hard a couple times.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, barely audible over the background hum of drunken people talking loudly and laughing. “When I was 18. I came with my family. My parents. And my sister.”

Steve’s heart is beating out of his chest and he doesn’t think he can keep the enigma going for much longer when he sees something flash across Bucky’s face. It starts as surprise, then slowly his eyes get wider and wider until he looks like he’s about to cry.

“Jesus fuck. Steve?” And his name is a whisper Steve wants to hear over and over.

Steve smiles and laughs a little. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Holy shit. Holy shit, _Steve_.” Bucky’s incredulous and smiling widely; it touches his eyes. He reaches out and puts his hand on Steve’s bicep then looks at it. “Fuckin’ hell, Stevie. You grew up.”

Steve laughs at that, throwing his head back and loving how Bucky smiles along as if he’s in on the joke.

“I feel like an asshole not recognizing you. Jesus.” Bucky rubs his forehead and sits back a little to take all of Steve in.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve changed.”

“No shit. Well, hell, I’m… I’m now wishing I hadn’t drunk so much. Do you– Can we step outside? Cool air might help.”

Steve smiles and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Steve gets up and Bucky follows, surprisingly okay on his feet given how much he ostensibly drank. Steve stops at the table and sets his beer down.

Natasha is leaning into Peggy’s side, whispering something and Peggy is laughing loudly. They both glance up when Steve walks over. Natasha quickly takes in Steve’s face before focusing her attention on the person behind him.

“Look who I found,” Steve says, sticking his thumb out at Bucky.

“Shit, Bucky, is that you?” Natasha asks and gets up from the chair to come around.

Bucky raises his arms and lets them fall in answer. Natasha reaches up and hugs him tight around the neck. He returns the embrace. Nat turns to Steve, giving him a pointed look, then rounds on Bucky. “What’ve you been doing?” she asks.

“We’re… actually gonna step outside,” Steve interrupts. “But we’ll be back, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” Nat gives him a small smile and they leave. 

The air is cool for summer and there’s a gentle breeze that pushes Steve’s hair away from his face. He hears Bucky take a deep breath behind him.

They both start at the same time: “How have you–?” Steve says. “Steve, I–,” Bucky says.

They stare at each other for a moment. Bucky takes a step forward and digs his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m happy to see you,” he says. “You look good.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and smirks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I mean, not like that. You know what I mean.”

“Sure, Buck. Thanks. You look… Uh.” It’s hard to find the right word. _Tired_ comes to mind first but that’s hardly the right thing to say. _Depressed_ is next but Steve’s not ready to tackle those dark circles or the two days’ worth of stubble on his cheek just yet. He decides on _different_. Bucky has long hair now, nearly to his shoulders. It frequently falls into his eyes, causing him to push it back with one well-calloused hand. He’s still lean and muscular, but more defined in a way that causes the heat to rise in Steve’s face just looking at him.

Bucky lets out a short, breathy laugh. “A mess,” Bucky finishes for him. “I know. It’s been a, uh, hard few years.”

Steve bites his bottom lip and watches as Bucky’s eyes dip down to watch. Steve can’t help but blush. “What’ve you been doing?” Steve asks, trying to keep things chaste _for fuck’s sake_.

“Remember the war?” Bucky asks with a smile that pulls at his perfectly dark pink lips.

“Oh,” Steve says and yeah, of course Bucky was in the war. While Steve was off getting an education Bucky was overseas doing God-knows-what, making a difference and now Steve feels like a major ass.

Bucky waves his hand as if to say it doesn’t matter. “I enlisted,” he explains as if the fact that he wasn’t drafted makes it all better. “Three years over there and I was fuckin’ ready to be back, y’know? But when I get home, Dad’s real sick. Didn’t last three months after I returned.” He shrugs and looks down.

“Jesus, Buck. I’m sorry.” And he means it. He knows how much Bucky’s dad meant to him, how well they got along those significant few weeks Steve was allowed to see their interactions. Bucky’s dad had genuinely liked Steve, too, always gave him extra food and a wink when he stayed late for dinner. And he showed interest in Steve’s sketches, which was more than Steve’s own parents ever did.

“Thanks,” Bucky says. “But, it’s all right. Got a job. A different job. Doing contracted work, that sort of thing. And with the government money from the Army and Dad’s life insurance, I was able to buy that house.” Bucky watches Steve’s face as if expecting Steve to ask which house.

But Steve knows which house. “You didn’t,” Steve says, a smile spreading across his face.

Bucky nods, looking genuinely pleased for the first time. “Got it all fixed up and real pretty.”

Bucky’s proud, Steve realizes, and he loves that about him.

It grows quiet and then Bucky breaks the silence with a question Steve’s been dreading. “Why now?” he asks. “Why’d you come back after all these years?” It’s posed as an inconsequential question, but Steve knows it means more than Bucky’s light tone is supposing.

Steve runs a hand through his hair before answering. “Not my idea, actually.”

“Natasha?” Bucky guesses.

Steve nods. “And Sam and Clint. They left before you…”

“I saw ‘em. Colored guy and his, uh, friend?”

Steve gives him a pointed look. “Yeah, those two.”

“Friends from college?” Bucky asks.

“Just Sam. Clint was in the Army, too, actually. He and Sam met at a bar in New York.”

“Are they…?” Bucky glances to the side and swallows.

Steve nods. “Been together five or six years now, I guess.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow.”

“What about you? Have you…? Anyone?” Steve is absolutely not panicking waiting for the answer because that would be ridiculous.

Bucky snorts a laugh. “Are you kidding? In Seabrook? That’d be suicide. No one.” And Steve hopes the look he’s getting means a _not since you_ is tacked on the end there.

“Well, we did okay,” Steve points out.

“Until we didn’t.”

It grows quiet. “How are you, Bucky? Really?” Steve asks because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s concern.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Bucky takes a step toward him and they’re practically touching. Steve can smell the alcohol on Bucky this close, a reminder that five minutes ago he was pretty close to drunk. “Steve, you came back,” Bucky breathes. Steve’s own breath hitches as Bucky leans in and tilts his head up just slightly to land an open-mouthed kiss on Steve. Steve inhales sharply and lets himself go for just a moment, leaning into it and kissing back.

But then reality catches up and he pushes Bucky back firmly but not hard. “Bucky, wait, I can’t.” Bucky’s flushed and Steve wants to punch something for having to stop but it’s not right. _Not like this_ , he keeps thinking over and over, a mantra. _Not like this._

Bucky takes a step back looking insulted and guilty, like a kicked dog. 

Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “Bucky, I didn’t–“

“Steve?” Peggy’s voice cuts through the fog in Steve’s mind. She steps around the corner and spots them. “We’re heading home, love.” She glances at Bucky and gives him a cursory smile.

“Yeah, all right.” Steve raises a hand in reply and Peggy heads back into the bar, her heel clicks piercing the silence that has now descended.

Steve turns back to Bucky. He would pay any amount, would give away the entirety of his parents’ fortune to never see this look on Bucky’s face again. He’s broken, sick, and furious and Steve wants to lean in, kiss him and yet run away at the same time.

“I should go,” Bucky says and it comes out half a growl. He takes a step back, but Steve reaches out a hand and grabs his arm.

“Wait.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky’s head snaps up and the look in his eye is ten degrees beyond cold, forcing Steve to drop Bucky’s arm and step back.

“Bucky, I–“

“Don’t, okay? Just…” Bucky runs a hand through his hair – a nervous tick. Steve catches himself thinking he wants to discover _all_ of Bucky’s new nervous habits. “I shouldn’t have… You’re… clearly not here for me. I’m…”

“For… you?” Steve iterates.

Bucky gives Steve a self-deprecating smile.

“Bucky, you can’t be serious,” Steve says and he tries not to make it sound condescending but he thinks he fails because Bucky’s face tightens, becomes resigned.

“Yeah. Stupid fucking Bucky. Pining after a guy he doesn’t even know anymore. Y’know what? Let’s just pretend this never fucking happened. I get it! You moved on! That’s great, Steve! Honest to fucking God that’s so fucking great!” His arms are stretched out to either side of him and his cheeks are red with drink and rage.

Steve steels himself and fires right back: “It _wasn’t_ fucking great six years ago! When I was stupid enough to believe that we—“

“Here we go,” Bucky mutters with a dark smile, hands on his hips.

“Yeah, here we fucking go!” Steve snaps, stepping toward Bucky aggressively. “Look, I wasn’t going to look for you. You made it pretty clear you never wanted to see me again. And now you’re drunk. I just…” Steve sticks out his arms helplessly.

“Forget it,” Bucky says and he starts to walk away.

“Bucky, wait!”  
  
“ _Why_?!” Bucky screams and it takes Steve aback the amount of sheer pain packed into one word. Bucky rounds on him and yells, “You come back here like it’s _nothing_! You waltz in with your fuckin’ college friends and act like this isn’t absolutely fucking _killing me_?”

“That’s not fair,” Steve starts.

“Fuck fair!” Bucky shouts. And Steve’s grateful for the late hour and the loud bar because they’d certainly be turning heads now. “Fuck you, Steve. Y’know, I _dreamed_ about seeing you again. Dreamed it would be fuckin’ magical.” He lets out a derisive laugh.

“You say that, Bucky, but you really didn’t act that way all those years ago, did you? _I loved you_! And you didn’t even care!”

Bucky scowls. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“I wrote you!” Steve shouts, not caring that his voice cracks and tears well up in his eyes. “I wrote you every fucking day for a _year_ , Bucky!”

Bucky’s face changes from anger to shock in a matter of seconds.

“So don’t try and tell me I’m the one that didn’t care,” Steve says. 

“Steve, I never got those letters,” Bucky says quietly.

Steve’s heart jumps to his throat. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I… I didn’t get them.”

“Bucky…”

Bucky holds up a hand. “Let’s just… forget this happened, all right? I need to go. It was good seein’ you, Steve.”

“Bucky,” Steve says again, but he’s already walking away. There’s a weight in Steve’s stomach and its so heavy he can’t seem to lift his feet to follow. And his heart is so tightly lodged in his throat he can’t even shout out. All excuses. Because he’s a coward and honestly Bucky always was the brave one, wasn’t he? Steve was just riding his coattails. It had been the same with Peggy, too. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes.

  


* * *

  


Bucky takes a cold shower. It’s so cold his teeth chatter, but he’s awake now and sober, too, which he thinks might be a mistake because he can recall with perfect clarity the look on Steve’s face when he kissed him.

 _Fuck_.

Bucky lets his head rest against the cool tile, the water sliding down his back. _Letters. Steve wrote letters._ Bucky knows he didn’t get them, and there’s only one other person who was living with him who could have intercepted them. (He only considers the mailman for a second because Mr. Farris was nice and didn’t look to be the letter-stealing type.)

All of his father’s belongings are stored in the den. With a towel draped around his waist and hair still dripping, Bucky makes his way into the room and glances around. There are twenty or more boxes, things he hasn’t gone through because at first it felt invasive and then too much time had passed.

He starts with the first box he can reach.

An hour later, Bucky digs through a big box and pulls out table cloths folded neatly that smell like moth balls and mildew. His towel is abandoned a few feet away; living alone does have its perks. He digs his arm into the box and feels around. He thinks it’s empty until his hand comes into contact with more cardboard. He pulls out a smaller box whose flaps have been folded and unfolded so many times it takes just a little tug to open it.

Inside, kept together by a large rubber band, are a stack of faded envelopes. Bucky takes them out and finds that his hands are shaking slightly. He grits his teeth, swallows hard, and pulls the first letter out. It looks relatively newer than the rest and there’s nothing written on the front. The second letter, on the other hand, is yellowed and the ink is smeared. It’s Steve’s handwriting and Bucky’s heart drops into his stomach as he reads his own name in Steve’s scrawl.

He opens the blank envelope first. Bucky recognizes his father’s handwriting immediately as he unfolds the paper. 

He reads:

_James,_

_No amount of apologizing will make up for what I’ve done. My only wish is that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive your father, to understand that I did what I did for you and for us._

_Although you may not find this to be a proper excuse, Mr. Rogers threatened my job, he threatened your job, he threatened our family. And as much as I wish I could’ve stood up to him, stood up for you, I’ve never called myself brave. You got a coward of a father and for that I’m sorry._

_I meant to give you these but every year that passed was wrong until it just felt pointless. It would dredge up bad memories. At least, that’s what I told myself. I’m writing this when I know that I am dying and I know that one day you’ll find these and hate me for it and I can only handle that if I’m dead._

_Like I said, I’m a coward. You’ve always been the brave one between the two of us and your mother would be so disappointed in me for what I’ve done._

_I hope that at some point you can find it in you to forgive me._

_Dad_

Bucky’s hands shake and he grips the paper tight before tossing it to the side. He picks the stack of letters back up. It’s a massive pile. _365 of them_ , he thinks. He pulls the letter from the bottom. It’s dated July 12th, 1940, just days after Steve and his family had left Seabrook Island.

He reads.

  


* * *

  


Steve collapses with a huff on the large bed in the master bedroom. It’s stupid how embarrassed he is and how much of an idiot he is and how something that happened when he was 18 still makes him feel a hundred pounds lighter, asthmatic, and head over heels in love.

He doesn’t even _know_ Bucky. Not anymore. If Steve’s changed, which he has, then so has Bucky. They’re not who they used to be. They’re not two lovesick kids covertly kissing on a beach. Any residual feelings are just that and nothing more because anything else would be ridiculous. _Absolutely ridiculous._

It’s three in the morning when Peggy comes into the room to find Steve laying despondent on the bed, an arm over his face.

“Hard night?” Peggy asks going over to the vanity by the far wall.

Steve drops his arm on the bed next to him and sits up. He rubs his eyes and watches her through the mirror as she takes out an earring.

“Have you checked on Clint and Sam?” he asks in lieu of a reply.

Peggy gives Steve a neutral look that he knows means she hasn’t dropped the initial subject, but she answers: “I’m sure they’re sleeping it off. Don’t want to disturb them." 

There’s a pause as Peggy unclips her hair and it falls in silky curls around her face. “So, you want to talk about what happened?” she asks. 

“No.” Steve lets out a breath. “And yes.”

Peggy turns so she’s half-sitting on the edge of the vanity and she folds her arms across her chest, expectant. “This is _the_ Bucky, isn’t it? The one you talked about every single minute of every single day throughout that whole first year of college?” She smiles kindly at him and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yes, _that_ Bucky. I was… kind of in love. I mean, it was nothing, but, you know. Summer love and… all that.” He wonders for a moment if he should call Natasha in. Two level heads are better than one, but he’s tired and Peggy isn’t nearly as blunt as Nat, which is a nice change of pace.

Peggy raises an eyebrow and it’s infuriating how good she is at making Steve talk without a word. “Well, it’s stupid, right?” he says, “But I shouldn’t feel like– I mean, it wasn’t– He’s not–.” Steve groans and balls his fists at his side.

“Eloquently put,” Peggy replies with a half-smile and kind eyes. She pushes off from the vanity and sits next to Steve on the edge of the bed. She places one slim hand on his knee. “You can tell me anything, Steve. You should know this by now,” she says. “Frankly, it’s a little insulting if you feel you can’t.”

“No, no it’s not that, Peggy. C’mon. You’re my– You’re my best friend. It’s just… _I’m_ not even sure what’s going on. I don’t even know where to start.” He looks at her pleadingly and hopes it doesn’t come off half as desperate as he feels.

Peggy purses her lips then says, “How about from the beginning?”

Steve lets out a breath before saying, “The beginning is… we were together and then we weren’t and then years later when none of it should matter anymore he kisses me and now it’s like it matters again. But that’s ridiculous because it was _years ago_ and we were _kids_ and it wasn’t…” Steve stares at Peggy and hopes beyond hope she understands. Then again, she may be the only person to know exactly how he feels and that’s heartening.

Peggy nods slowly. “Steve, you know I love you, right?”

“Course, Peggy.”

“Then don’t take it personally when I say you are a real bloody idiot.” She gives Steve the saddest smile he’s ever seen and he nearly cringes.

“What should I do?”

“Sorry, I’m not your keeper. It’s not my place to say. But, if it were anyone else, I’d tell them to do what’s best for everyone involved. You, however, seem to be the exception to every rule ever created by man or god, so I’m going to tell you to follow your _heart_ and that’s just…,” she waves her hand in the air, “crazy.”

“Coming from you.”

“Yes, coming from me. Which means you should probably listen, but what do I know?” Peggy stands and stretches. “Now, I’m going to bed. It’s late and I’m not nearly tipsy enough to be having this sort of serious discussion at three in the morning.”

Steve laughs lightly. “Thanks, Peggy.”

She smiles at him before heading to the door. “Good night, Steve.” She leaves and Steve watches the space where she was and thinks, _In another life, perhaps_.

  


* * *

  


The house is immaculate and for a moment Steve realizes _this_ is what Bucky had been picturing all those years ago standing in that broken down room with rotting floorboards. The renovated thing is truly a work of art – it’s white with a dark blue trim, beautiful bay windows and a door that, by the look of it, doesn’t get stuck when you try and open it.

The lawn is perfectly manicured as well, Steve notices as he walks across it heading for the door. His heart beats nearly out of his chest and reminds him once again that being anywhere near Bucky makes him feel like he’s 18 and helpless.

Steve swallows his anxiety and knocks three times loudly against the polished wood. A full minute passes and Steve’s just about to turn away, to get back in his car and drive because this was a really stupid idea, when the door opens.

Bucky’s hair is a long mess and he's flushed and out of breath. Steve’s breath hitches for a moment before he stutters out: “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… interrupt.”

He glances briefly at Bucky’s bare chest and then the towel around his waist and wonders what exactly he interrupted because Bucky’s hair isn’t _wet_. Steve blushes when his mind starts to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Steve,” Bucky says, the shock clear in his voice. “You didn’t interrupt. I mean. I was sleeping.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow because Bucky can’t really expect him to believe that, but he doesn’t look like he wants to explain further.

“I came to apologize,” Steve says, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Bucky's eyes linger on Steve’s face for a moment, then he steps back. “Come in,” he says.

Steve hesitates before following Bucky inside. He’s immediately struck by how different and yet familiar the house is. Steve has relived that night any number of times, but seeing it again in the daylight with a new coat of paint and wood that doesn’t splinter with the slightest touch is incredible. 

He must be gaping because Bucky laughs a little. “Pretty great, right?” he says.

Steve shuts his mouth and looks at Bucky. “It’s amazing, Buck. You did all this? How long’d it take?” 

Bucky shrugs a broad shoulder. “A year? Maybe more. Didn’t really keep track.” There’s a pause as Steve lets his eyes wander all over the main room, taking in every inch of the house. “I’m gonna… put on some pants. You’re welcome to look around.” 

Bucky excuses himself and Steve watches him leave before walking further into the house. He ends up in the kitchen at the far end of the ground floor staring at immaculately clean granite countertops. He doesn’t notice Bucky until he clears his throat behind him. Steve turns. He’s wearing jeans, a white shirt, and his hair is pulled back.

“This place is really amazing,” Steve says sincerely. He splays one hand out on the countertop and bites the inside of his cheek. Bucky watches him uncertainly as it grows quiet. “Bucky, I–.”

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky cuts in, holding a hand up. “Don’t apologize. It’s not–. I should be the one apologizing. It was… inappropriate… or something.”

It grows quiet again and they share a long look.

“She’s really beautiful,” Bucky says and the sincerity keeps Steve from replying right away.

“She’s… Sorry, what?”

“The woman. With Natasha at the bar. She’s yours, isn’t she? Your… girlfriend.” He says it like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and Steve just stares at him, incapable of a response.

Finally, he lets out a laugh that furrows Bucky’s brow. Bucky leans forward on the kitchen counter. “What?” he says, a half-smile already playing on his lips.

“She’s not mine,” Steve says with a huge grin. “I mean, not my girlfriend. Not my anything. Well, she used to be. That was years ago, though.”

Bucky pulls a stool over and sits so he’s facing Steve across the counter. “Sorry. I just assumed,” Bucky says. He looks down at his clasped hands. “I assumed that’s why you… When I…”

Steve watches with shameless delight as Bucky falters and his knuckles go white against each other, his cheeks reddening by the second.

“No, that’s not why I pushed you away,” Steve says. “I pushed you away because you were drunk. And that’s not exactly how I pictured it.”

Bucky looks up sharply. “Pictured it,” Bucky repeats with a sly smile. “You pictured it?"

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head. God knows it’s big enough as it is.” Steve lets out a light laugh and Bucky follows suit, but it’s darker somehow. “I couldn’t very well take advantage of you.”

Bucky actually guffaws at that, his head thrown back and eyes closed. When he’s caught his breath, Steve is looking playfully chagrinned. “Steve, you could never _take advantage_ of me,” Bucky says. “I’m not a blushing, virginal princess, y’know.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You were still drunk. And the jury’s out on that last part.”

Bucky mimes being stabbed in the heart and Steve laughs, really laughs like he hasn’t done in a long time, not without it being undercut by shame or indignity. Humor without politics is sparse in his world and he thinks he could live in a world with less. But Steve is walking, living, breathing politics. He can’t seem to piss without it being political and it was that world that forced Steve and Peggy apart.

Peggy thrived there, fighting the good fight with syntax and strategic political maneuvers. And while Steve could carry a conversation as well as the next guy, he found his true speaking ability flourished while brandishing fists. He’d ended up in back alleys too many times to count. He had convictions and if people disagreed, that was their business. If their business hurt his friends, however, he had to shut it down.

“So,” Steve says, tapping his fingers lightly on the counter. “Do you usually sleep in just a towel?”

It’s meant to sound something like seductive, but Bucky’s face instead turns eager. “No. I sort of… Let me just show you.” He motions slightly as he gets up. He leads Steve down the main hall and stops at a door.

“I, uh, remembered what you said. About the letters? I knew… I knew I didn’t get them. That Dad probably... That maybe they were here somewhere. And, um, well…” Bucky opens the door and stands aside, letting Steve step in first.

Papers – no, his letters, all 365 of them – are strewn about the room, some in half-attempted piles, most others just thrown by the wayside. There’s a curious blank spot in the middle that he realizes must’ve been Bucky’s nest as he tore through them all. 

Steve bends down and picks up the one closest to him. It’s four pages long and he can hardly read his own handwriting (it would be no wonder if Bucky were up all night – his handwriting puts doctors to shame). On the last page is a sketch, messy and smeared, but undoubtedly Natasha. She’s curled up on her canopy bed at their childhood home with a pencil stuck behind her ear – a habit she picked up from Steve – and there’s a caption at the bottom that reads “she’s such a bore.” 

Steve doesn’t remember this letter, it had been like so many others: introspection, wondering about Bucky. As the letters went on, they became more and more bitter, Steve recalls with a twinge of regret. 

“I’m embarrassed,” Steve remarks and lets the pages fall from his hand. 

“You shouldn’t be.” Bucky is standing close, one hand on his hip and the other braced against the doorjamb. “They were… illuminating.” There’s a gleam in his eye that Steve can’t help roll his eyes at. 

“Sure, if ‘illuminating’ suddenly means ‘depressingly post-pubescent and whiny’.” 

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “They were nice. Honestly.” He lets out a long breath. “Just wish I’d gotten ‘em six years ago.” 

Steve turns so he’s facing Bucky completely and crosses his arms self-consciously. “It probably wouldn’t have changed anything.” He looks down at his feet and feels the years of embarrassing writing heating up his face. 

Bucky takes a step closer to Steve and his proximity heats the room to unbearably high temperatures. “It would have changed everything,” Bucky says, eyes clear and bright in the morning light streaming through the far window. “I was an idiot.”

“Yeah, you were,” Steve agrees, but says it lightly enough that Bucky gives him a half-smile.

“ _But_ ,” Bucky continues stubbornly, “I’d like to think I’ve grown as a person in the past few years.”

“Oh, so you’re not an idiot?”

“I’m _less_ of an idiot.”

Bucky places a warm hand on Steve’s chest who can’t help but take a small, sharp intake of breath at the sudden contact.

“Are you going to push me away?” Bucky asks. They’re impossibly close now, Bucky’s hand still resting between them on Steve’s chest and he _must_ be able to feel how Steve’s heart is trying its damnedest to beat straight out of his chest. Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and _fuck_ _it_. They both lurch forward at the same time, bridging the gap between them and crashing carelessly against one another. Steve finds purchase on Bucky’s waist while Bucky’s hands find their way up Steve’s neck, into his hair, forcing a barely-stifled groan out of Steve. Bucky makes some satisfied noise against Steve’s now-open mouth.

The kiss is hard and rushed: a kiss born of a shared, solaced youth and neglected time.

Bucky is leading him somewhere and Steve half-walks, half-stumbles out the door, down the hall and into a room—a bedroom, as the back of his knees hit a bed and he sits.

Steve’s desperate for more of Bucky when he pulls away for a moment, desperate to touch and have and hold. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head and drops it unceremoniously on the floor, slides a knee between Steve’s thighs on the bed and hovers so close there are mere centimeters between them.

Their noses brush and Steve recognizes the look in Bucky’s eyes and the way the sides crinkle together when he’s deeply amused by something.

“What?” Steve asks. It comes out as a soft whine because the last thing he wants to be doing is _talking_.

Bucky shakes his head slightly and plants a soft kiss on Steve’s cheek, his nose, his upper lip.

Now he _needs_ to know. “What?” Steve asks again, this time nudging Bucky’s leg with his own.

Bucky pulls back and smiles playfully. “I tripped,” he whispers and kisses Steve hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Two Months Later]  
> Yeah I'm sorry that I am literal trash for taking so long. Apparently it is impossible for me to work without a deadline. (plus i graduated university and am job searching~)
> 
> The next chapter will be an epilogue of sorts? I never planned to have a third chapter, but I DID plan for these two assholes to get down and dirty so that's been relegated to the next chapter now. SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT LONGER!! Hopefully it's been worth it. u_u


	3. Chapter 3

Bliss. That’s the word Steve is searching for. Pure bliss. Steve’s not a linguist by any stretch of the imagination but the way he feels now - that’s what bliss is and he’s willing to challenge anyone on that, dictionary definitions be damned.

The way Bucky feels, his body warm and taut on top of his own. The way he smells slightly like pine and soap and sweat. The way he looks leaning over Steve, hands on either side of his head, his face pink and eyes glazed. The way he tastes…

Steve lets out a low moan as Bucky licks Steve’s jaw, his neck, finally biting the skin there ever so softly. Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s biceps, barely holding on even though he’s still wearing pants. Bucky seems to have the same thought and unbuttons them. He yanks them down unceremoniously along with Steve’s briefs. He stares hungrily at Steve’s erection laying against his stomach.

Steve is pulsing with heat and he feels touch-deprived. He puts one leg around Bucky’s and pushes, switching places with Bucky so he’s laying on top. Steve takes Bucky’s nipple in his mouth and Bucky actually whimpers. Pleased, Steve moves on, slowly making his way down until he reaches Bucky’s jeans. He undoes them and tugs lightly on them; Bucky didn’t bother to put on underwear, apparently, and he shifts uncomfortably when Steve takes too long.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpers. He runs his hands through Steve’s hair and Steve looks up. Bucky is propped up on his elbows watching Steve with wide, pleading eyes. Steve smiles at him devilishly before finally pulling his pants off all the way. Bucky kicks them off gratefully and then tugs Steve’s face toward him so they can kiss. It’s slow now, neither of them in any hurry. Bucky’s breath is hot and labored and Steve revels in the fact that he’s causing this man to come apart. 

Steve takes Bucky in hand and his breath hitches. He strokes him once, twice…

“Steve,” Bucky says again, strained. He arches up into Steve so he can feel him against his stomach, hot and already wet with pre-come. Bucky’s hand finds its way down and grabs Steve’s cock roughly causing Steve to groan loudly. He lets his head fall onto Bucky’s shoulder as he tries to hold on longer, willing himself to keep going as Bucky’s thumb rubs the tip gently, teasingly, like he knows how much it’s killing Steve.

“Buck, please,” Steve groans and he can feel Bucky laugh beneath him. 

Bucky begins stroking him and Steve does the same until they both reach a rhythm. Steve comes first, the release making him see stars so he can barely keep stroking Bucky, but he does until Bucky comes, too, with a loud groan and his other hand pulling roughly at Steve’s hair. 

Steve rolls to the right and collapses heavily next to Bucky. They lay there for a few minutes, just breathing and basking in the sheer euphoria. 

Steve eventually shifts slightly so he’s facing Bucky on his side. Bucky turns his head to stare back and a smile pulls at the side of his lips. Steve smiles back and lets out a breath. 

“Steve, I-” Bucky starts, but Steve cuts him off: “If you’re about to say you tripped, I swear to god I will leave right now.”

Bucky laughs loudly.

“I’m not joking,” Steve says, but he can’t help smiling widely. “I will walk out that door.”

Bucky just grins and stares at Steve, his expression open and happy. He looks years younger than the previous night, a miraculous transformation. Still, he’s so different from the boy Steve had fallen for years ago. Time has aged him - has aged them both considerably. 

Bucky must have been thinking the same thing. “You’re so much… _bigger_ ,” he says. He turns toward Steve so they’re both laying on their sides looking at one another and places a hand on Steve’s chest.

Steve laughs lightly. “Yeah. I sort of had a crazy growth spurt about a year after we left here.”

“Crazy growth spurt doesn’t quite cover it,” Bucky says.

“Crazy growth spurt plus penicillin that actually let me retain some of those nutrients I was supposed to be getting all along no thanks to the myriad of diseases I’d been contracting my whole life. Doctor said I was damn lucky my growth spurt came so late because if it had happened while I sick, I could’ve stayed that pale little scrawny kid my whole life.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, offended. “I liked that pale little scrawny kid.”

Steve smiles appreciatively. “Yeah, well, being able to bench-press my own body weight is nice, too.”

“Yeah, fair point,” Bucky says. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand never leaves Steve’s chest, moving with each breath. Bucky closes his eyes and Steve is close to following suit, but then he remembers.

“Bucky,” he says quietly.

“Mmm,” Bucky replies.

“I’m supposed to meet Nat and Peggy and the guys for lunch,” Steve says.

Bucky makes a whiny noise, grabs Steve’s shoulder, and pulls himself close so they’re flush against one another. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve tightly and buries his face in Steve’s neck. “Don’t go,” he mumbles, tickling Steve with his warm breath.

It hasn’t been ten minutes, but Steve already feels the blood pooling in his abdomen again. Bucky notices, stiffens slightly when he feels Steve’s half-hard cock against his leg and then lets out a little laugh.

“See, you definitely don’t want to leave,” he says. He pulls back and kisses Steve with an open mouth.

Steve makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat that they both know he doesn’t actually mean. 

“Nat’ll be pissed,” Steve argues uselessly.

“Mhm,” Bucky murmurs softly against Steve’s neck. “So will I,” he adds. 

Steve relents for a couple minutes, letting Bucky trail kisses from his jaw to his navel. 

“Bucky,” Steve says and it comes out far more pleading than he intends it to. “I’m gonna be late if you don’t-” He inhales sharply as Bucky’s mouth finds the base of his cock. “Bucky…”

Bucky slides his tongue up the length of his cock and Steve is gone, all thoughts of Natasha and his friends disappeared. Fuck lunch; he’ll never eat again if it can be like this for the rest of his life.

And then he’s inside Bucky’s mouth and it’s so hot it takes everything in Steve not to come right away. Bucky is being deliberately slow, taking Steve all in so that he can feel the back of Bucky’s throat before he pulls back again. It’s agonizing, slow torture.

“Bucky, please.” And this time it is a plea and Bucky obliges, going faster. But it’s still not enough and Steve can’t help but arch into it each time. Bucky’s hands grip Steve’s hips and he’s sure there’ll be bruises there but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything except the wet hotness of Bucky’s mouth and the way his tongue caresses him on every upstroke until finally, finally he’s coming with an embarrassingly loud cry. Bucky takes the first of it, sitting up and swallowing and then stroking Steve’s cock the rest of the way.

It takes Steve a good minute to recover enough to even look at Bucky. When he does, Bucky is still sitting there looking pleased, a half smile pulling at his lips. And it takes another full minute for Steve to remember, once again, that he has a date to get to.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he says and sits up. He runs a hand through his hair. “Natasha’s going to kill me.”

“I think Natasha would understand,” Bucky points out.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… she’s been wanting to go to Lawney’s since we got here and I told her I’d just had to do something and I’d be there and now she’s gonna…” Steve trails off and stares at Bucky helplessly. 

“Lawney’s isn’t more than five minutes from here,” Bucky says. He finds his hair tie abandoned on the bed and pushes his hair back again. Then he smiles widely at Steve. “Although, I don’t think she’d appreciate you showing up like that.” He’s looking at Steve’s stomach, covered in come.

“Great,” Steve mutters.

“Shower,” Bucky says. He gets off the bed and holds his hand out to Steve. “C’mon.”

“How many showers do you have?” Steve asks, taking Bucky’s hand and following him out into the hall and up the stairs.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Three. Why?”

“Great. We’re taking them separately.”

“But-”

“Separately, Bucky. We’re already late as it is.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, but Steve swears he’s pouting when he points out the guest room and the adjoined bathroom. “I’ll grab your clothes from downstairs.”

“What? No! Go shower!” Steve pushes on Bucky’s shoulder to make him move but Bucky just stares at him looking confused.

“I can shower when you leave, I-”

“You’re coming with me, Bucky.”

Bucky frowns. “I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.” Steve turns on his heel, goes into the bedroom, and shuts the door behind him. He hears Bucky sigh loudly before padding down the hallway. Steve waits until he hears another door open and close before showering.

Bucky apparently finished first because Steve’s clothes are folded on the guest bed when he gets out of the shower. Steve quickly dries off (he hadn’t wet his hair - he’s already going to have to explain Bucky’s appearance, he doesn’t want to have to explain why he had to take a shower at his house even though he’d showered that morning).

He dresses quickly and makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen where Bucky’s waiting.

“Let’s go,” Steve says. “I’ll drive.” He pulls his car key out of his pocket and they both head out the door.

It’s quiet in Steve’s car as he drives. Finally, Bucky breaks the silence: “I don’t really understand why I have to come. I don’t know your friends.”

“That’s the point,” Steve says. “You’re going to meet my friends. Plus, I think having two people to focus her anger on will make Natasha’s wrath easier to withstand.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, you and I both know it’s just going to make her twice as angry.” Steve can feel Bucky watching him drive and he glances over.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing. I just think I deserve some sort of gift for doing this.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he pulls into the small parking lot in front of Lawney’s. It’s a small cafe with outdoor seating just yards from the beach, a favorite haunt of Natasha’s whenever she visits Seabrook. Steve spots Natasha and the rest sitting outside and she looks over as soon as they pull up.

Steve looks at Bucky. “I’ll think of something,” he says sincerely. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“You don’t have to think of anything,” Bucky says. “I already know what I want.” Before Steve can ask, Bucky gets out of the car. Steve catches up to him outside of the cafe as Bucky waits by the door with a sly little smile. 

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What is it?”

Bucky leans toward Steve and places a hand softly on his hip as he whispers, “You’re going to fuck me, Steve.”

Steve blanches and watches in disbelief as Bucky puts on a convincingly innocent face. It takes a moment for Steve’s brain to catch up with his body so he can follow Bucky into the cafe.

It’s busy during lunch and they maneuver their way around tourists and regulars alike. A couple smile at Bucky or say hello and he nods in reply. They finally find the door to the outdoor seating and Bucky and Steve step out.

“Here they are!” Sam says happily. 

Next to him, Clint looks downright miserable with his sunglasses on and clutching his head. “Good god, stop yelling,” Clint says.

“Not my fault you decided to get wasted on your first night here,” Sam says with a grin.

“We’re on _vacation_ ,” Clint says slowly.

“You’re late,” Natasha says. She stands and hugs Steve then goes over to Bucky. She hugs him. “Are you to blame?” she asks him.

They all take their seats.

“Yeah. Steve came over to make sure I got home okay last night,” Bucky says casually. “Last night I was pretty drunk. Not as bad as…” He trails off while looking at Clint.

“Clint,” he says and extends his hand across the table. Bucky takes it.

“Yeah, that’s Clint,” Steve says. “Sam, Peggy, and you know Natasha.” Steve motions to each in turn.

“Steve said he was doing errands, not you,” Natasha says to Bucky with a smirk.

Steve feels himself redden, but Bucky just smiles right back at her. “I may have distracted him,” Bucky says. “It was my fault.”

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky Clint took such a long time to get in the damn car. We only got here ten minutes ago.” 

“You know, we’ve heard so much about you,” Peggy tells Bucky and Steve looks at her with pleading eyes.

“Have you?” Bucky asks innocently, looking at Steve with raised eyebrows.

“Good things only, I promise,” she says.

“All the time,” Sam adds.

“Incessantly,” Clint says.

“Well, I’m flattered,” Bucky replies.

A waitress arrives to take their orders and five minutes later Bucky is chatting with the group like he’s been friends with them for years. Steve can’t help but watch him with a barely hidden smile. He’d forgotten how personable Bucky could be. When it’s just them, it’s easy to forget that Bucky has always been the people person, can relate to anyone and make them laugh. He’s so laidback, so casual, so charming it almost makes Steve jealous until he remembers that Bucky is _his_.

By the time they’re done eating, Bucky is halfway through an embarrassing story about Steve’s run-in with a feral cat in town.

“I was practically dragging him away while he’s trying to feed this damn cat that, by the way, had tried to tear Steve’s face off. I mean, this thing was _mean_ and Steve’s bleeding all over the place but he’s still trying to coax the thing to him.”

“He was just lonely and needed a friend!” Steve argues with a laugh.

“Yeah, he had lots of friends. Sewer rats and rabies, for example.”

By the early afternoon they’ve finished eating and Natasha is no longer shooting glares in Steve’s general direction for his lateness. Clint’s hangover seems to have passed and he’s leaning into Sam despite their being surrounded by other diners. If anyone notices, no one says a thing. Steve catches Bucky watching the couple while Peggy is telling a story and Steve places a hand on Bucky’s knee under the table. Bucky smiles at him.

Their conversation shifts to Sam and Clint, how they met and what happened. Most of the conversation is vague since they’re surrounded by people, but Bucky is smiling and laughing along anyway.

“Where did you serve?” Bucky asks Clint. 

Clint shifts in his seat and plucks a cold fry off Sam’s plate. “Italy. I was part of the original invasion of Sicily in '43. You?”

Steve is surprised that Clint knows - he’s sure no one told him, but Bucky does have a way of carrying himself now that screams military, despite the long hair and laidback attitude. “Normandy,” Bucky replies. “'44.”

“Shit,” Clint says. “You were Cobra?”

Bucky nods once. “I guess we both got the short end of the stick.”

“No kidding.”

The conversation devolves into war stories and then stories about Clint and Sam and then stories about Sam and Steve in university...

“Well, we’ve got plans today,” Natasha says, breaking off the lingering conversations around the table. “Shopping, beach, dinner - so we’d better get moving.”

Clint groans loudly and Natasha frowns angrily at him. “Do we really have to tag along for _shopping_?” he asks. He turns to Sam. “We don’t, do we?”

Sam looks at Natasha imploringly and she finally sighs. “Fine, you guys don’t have to come shopping. But you do have to come to the beach.”

“Deal,” Sam says.

“Actually, Bucky and I-” Steve starts hesitantly.

Natasha makes a loud, exasperated noise. “Not you too, Steve! C’mon! This was supposed to be fun!”

“Well, as much _fun_ as it sounds carrying around your and Peggy’s bags, I still have to drive Bucky home and then he was gonna show me the rest of his house.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at Bucky.

“Oh, yeah. He only get to see a little bit of it,” Bucky adds quickly.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Peggy and I are gonna have fun without you.”

“We’ll try not to cry about it,” Steve says with a grin.

  


* * *

  


It’s quiet on the drive home. Bucky stares out the window and Steve wants to ask if anything’s wrong, but his words get caught in his throat. Memories from that morning already seem far away and reality is quickly seeping back in despite Steve’s attempts to ignore it. Steve wonders if it was all the war talk at lunch - he’s not sure the extent to which Bucky is affected by it, and if he had just put on a good face for the group. But Bucky had started the conversation, so that didn’t seem likely.

“Steve, you know I don’t have any expectations,” Bucky says quietly. Steve looks over at him, but he’s still staring out the window.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” he turns and looks at Steve, “I know this isn’t… You and me. We aren’t… This isn’t.” He sighs.

“Bucky, what are you worried about?” Steve asks.

“I’m not worried. I’m just, trying to make sure you and I are on the same page here. I want you to know that I understand that you’re not sticking around. I don’t expect you to give up your life so we can be together.” He says the last part as if it’s ridiculous to even think about it. 

“Bucky, I-”

“Don’t,” Bucky cuts in. “You don’t need to explain or make excuses. I was just… letting you know.”

Steve pulls into Bucky’s driveway and turns the ignition off. Bucky gets out of the car and then leans down to stare inside at Steve. He smiles a little. “You still owe me,” he says.

Steve laughs, gets out of the car, and follows Bucky into the house. As soon as the door closes, Bucky turns and kisses Steve softly, placing one hand on his hip and the other on his neck. He pulls back. “C’mon,” Bucky says. “We’ll actually try for my bedroom this time.” He starts heading upstairs.

“Where were we before?” Steve asks.

“Guest bedroom. When my aunt comes to visit, that’s usually where she stays. Which means I’m not gonna be able to ever look her in the eye again.”

“There’s four rooms up here, right?” Steve asks as they reach the landing. 

“Yep. The guest bedroom you saw. I’ve got a workshop right here.” Bucky points to a closed door. “This room is basically storage for now.” He points to another closed door. “And finally…” Bucky opens the last door in the hall to reveal a large room. There’s a four poster bed with intricate little designs throughout the dark woodwork and a dark blue comforter. The walls are white with various paintings and drawings hung on them. Steve recognizes one of them immediately.

“Holy shit,” he says walking over to it. “I completely forgot about this.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says standing behind him.

It’s a small picture, a sketch Steve did all those years ago of Bucky on the beach. It had started as a small thing in Steve’s sketchpad, but he had felt it deserved a bigger canvas, so he redid it and gave it to Bucky as a gift.

“I can’t believe you kept it. I can’t believe it’s hanging in your room!” Steve turns and smiles at him.

Bucky shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets. “It’s nice. I like it.”

Steve grabs the front of Bucky’s shirt and pulls him close to kiss him. Bucky responds enthusiastically, eventually maneuvering them toward the bed. Bucky sits and pushes himself back so he’s against the headboard. Steve crawls after him, kissing him, opening his mouth to let Bucky’s tongue slide in and caress his own before he pulls back to bite softly on Steve’s bottom lip.

“You owe me,” Bucky reminds him again with a smile. 

Steve leans back a little. “You really want to…?” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t an idle request, Stevie.”

“Well, it’s just that- It’s not-”

“You’ve never fucked a guy before?” Bucky asks.

“I have. It’s just… not something you… dive right into.” 

Bucky stares at Steve a moment. “I can take it,” he says.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve says seriously.

“That’s sweet, but honestly I can take it,” Bucky says again.

“Bucky-”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts in. He sighs and reaches over to a small nightstand. He opens the top drawer and pulls something out. Steve sits back and gives him a wide-eyed look when Bucky shoves the object toward him. Steve takes it and looks at it. It’s made of clear, hard glass, smooth and about an inch and a half thick.

“A dildo,” Steve says staring at it. “You have a… Where the hell did you get this?”

“Guys from the war. It was a joke.”

“They knew you were…?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. When you’re over there surrounded by guys with little to no privacy, it’s hard to hide that sorta thing. They didn’t care. I was lucky that way. Others not so much, but the guys were… Well, they had a good time making fun of me.” Bucky is smiling, his eyes distant as if remembering something from a long time ago. Bucky snaps back to reality and takes the dildo from Steve. “Anyway, joke’s on them cause I’ve gotten some good use out of this.”

Steve laughs in disbelief. 

“Point being, Steve Rogers, that I can take you and everything you’ve got,” Bucky says. He leans forward and kisses Steve. He pulls back again to reach over to the nightstand where he grabs a condom and a bottle of lubricant.

“You are… incredibly prepared,” Steve says.

“Well, the lube is, y’know, for me. The condoms were more or less wishful thinking. They’ve been there for awhile.”

Steve takes the condom from him with a long kiss, leaning forward until Bucky is on his back. Steve’s already half-hard just from _thinking_ about it so he takes his shirt off and throws it to the floor. Bucky does so, too. In no time at all they’re both undressed, their clothes thrown about the room haphazardly and Steve’s chest is flush against Bucky’s. He can feel Bucky’s breaths, heavy and deep. Bucky’s cock twitches when Steve slides his own against it.

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky moans. “Fuck me already.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve breathes. He unwraps the condom and rolls it on. Then he takes the lube and rubs it on his fingers. He starts with one, pushing in and feeling Bucky tighten around him. Bucky gasps when Steve pulls out and pushes two fingers in. It’s not long until he can push three in and Bucky is breathing heavy, gripping the sheets on either side of him.

“Steve,” he begs. “Please, Steve, just do it.”

Steve puts more lube on his cock and the touch is almost too good to stop, but he forces himself to and positions himself at Bucky’s opening. Steve catches Bucky’s eye and he asks, “Are you sure?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ if you don’t fuck me right now, Steve, I’ll-” He cries out as Steve pushes in. He’s so hot and tight and wet Steve takes a moment just to get his bearings again before pulling out slowly.

Bucky’s looking at Steve, his mouth open and Steve wonders if he’s ever seen anything more amazing in his life. He’s flushed and shining with sweat and his eyes are bright and pleading. Steve pushes in again and Bucky’s eyes flutter close as his head tilts back.

Soon Steve picks up a rhythm, starting slow so he can watch Bucky, can make sure he’s not just putting on a brave face for Steve’s sake. But then Bucky’s pleading, “Harder, Steve. Fuck. Faster. I need you, I need you, fuck.” And Steve doesn’t need to hear more to push in faster, harder, until it’s too much and he’s pushed over the edge, coming inside of him. 

Bucky isn’t far behind once Steve grabs him and jerks him off with just a few strokes. Steve pulls out and crawls forward to kiss Bucky on the jaw once before collapsing beside him. 

“Jesus,” Bucky breathes.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Agreed.”

Bucky lets out a breathy laugh. “We should really do that again sometime.”

“Definitely.”

Steve and Bucky stare at the ceiling, side by side and shoulder to shoulder. Steve turns his head to look at Bucky. His eyelashes look incredibly long from this angle, and especially dark. Bucky leans up, pulls his hair tie out, pushes his hair back, and lays back down again. He looks over at Steve.

Steve reaches out and touches Bucky’s hair, tugs at the end of a strand. “I like it long,” Steve says.

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise. “I just got lazy, kept putting it off.”

“Bucky, I wish I’d been here.”

Bucky studies Steve’s face for a long moment. “What are you talking about, Stevie?”

“I mean, for you. I wish I’d been here for you for when your dad was sick and for the war and for this house.” Steve gestures at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I wish you’d been here, too. But you weren’t. And that’s no one’s fault, it just is what it is.” Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s cheek and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he says.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s. “Me too,” he says. He takes Bucky’s hand and kisses his palm.

“When are you leaving?” Bucky asks quietly. He’s looking at Steve and his eyes are wide but Steve can tell he’s anxious for the answer because Steve can feel it, too.

“We’re here for the week,” Steve says. “We leave on Sunday.”

Bucky nods and looks slightly relieved. Perhaps a week was longer than Bucky expected. It certainly isn’t long enough for Steve.

“New York?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah. I have a place up there with Clint and Sam.”

“You work?”

“Yeah, I do accounting work for a law firm.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It’s incredibly boring.” Steve laughs lightly. “But it does pay well.”

“Steve Rogers worrying about money. Now, that’s a laugh.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, my parents won’t give me my inheritance unless I get married.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care that much. They loved Peggy, though. After the catastrophe with you that summer, they thought I was a lost cause, y’know? They never said anything specifically, but they were always trying to set me up. When I told them Peggy and I were dating, it was pretty much the best news they’d ever gotten. And when we broke up? Well, that was just a nightmare.”

“What about Natasha?” Bucky asks. He sits up and pulls at the comforter. Steve moves so Bucky can pull the blanket over them. 

“Same rules. If she gets married, she can have it. It’s basically a race to get married except neither of us really care enough to try.” Steve shrugs and smooths the blanket down. “Knowing my parents, Natasha would get married and then they’d still hold onto the money until she had a baby or something.”

“That does sound like them.” 

They grow quiet again and Steve’s eyelids feel heavy with exhaustion. “Hey, Steve,” Bucky says.

“Yeah?”

“You said you fucked a guy before.” Bucky says it like it’s nothing, but the way his eyes bore into Steve’s is telling. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He pauses. “You really want to hear about it?”

“Yes.”

Steve sighs. “It was a couple years after you. I was still in college. And Natasha had heard about this place, this club where people like us could go and… y’know. But not just have sex or whatever, but just be ourselves and not have to worry. Of course, it was dangerous. There was always the chance there’d be a raid and police would come. Couple of kids got caught and they were kicked out of school.

“But Natasha really wanted to go so we went. It was really great, actually. Lots of dancing and music and drinks. Natasha pretty much ditched me right away, though, so I find my way over to a bar and there’s this guy…” Steve stops and looks at Bucky. “Do you really want to know, Buck?”

“Yes, Steve, I really want to know,” Bucky says.

“Okay, well, this guy. He’s this good looking colored guy and so we strike up a conversation and it turns out we go to school together and we’re actually in the same ethical law class. I should’ve recognized him since there were only, like, four colored kids in the whole school, but…”

“Holy shit,” Bucky says.

“What?”

“Sam.”

Steve smiles guiltily.

“You fucked _Sam_?!” Bucky is halfway between laughing and yelling.

“It was a one-night thing,” Steve says. “Neither of us had done anything before so it was… pretty terrible. And awkward.”

“I can’t believe you stayed friends,” Bucky says with a surprised laugh.

“Yeah, well, it was either friends or awkward classmates that avoid each other. And Sam took really good notes, so…”

“Well, why didn’t you guys stay together?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “A lot of reasons. The most important of which was that, inexplicably, I was still hung up on you. They weren’t lying when they said I talked about you all the time. I did. I was incredibly annoying.”

Bucky grins. “Good,” he says.

“That, plus the sex was so hilariously bad that only a truly incompatible relationship could’ve produced such a thing. Really, it was terrible.”

Bucky looks beyond pleased and Steve smiles at him. “Happy I told you?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Bucky replies. “I’m just glad it wasn’t some nobody I was gonna have to find and kill to protect your honor.”

“My honor was besmirched a long time ago,” Steve says. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, you got my embarrassing love life history. Your turn.”

Bucky scoffs. “Well, the war was… interesting. Mostly handjobs or blowjobs between guys that barely knew each other but whose pickings were slim and were too desperate to be exclusive. A surprising number of married guys, too,” Bucky says with a pensive look. “I mean, I never did. I had _some_ standards,” he adds quickly. “And then I got back home and, well, that was basically the end of that.”

“Wow. How did I end up with the better sex life?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Steve.”

Steve laughs and Bucky smiles at him and Steve thinks that he could die right then and be happy. Their legs are intertwined under the thick blanket and their shared body heat makes Steve even sleepier. Bucky sidles up closer to Steve and soon his breaths turn deep and slow. Steve falls asleep quickly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shows up two months late with starbucks]
> 
> uM YEAH SO THERE'S GONNA BE ANOTHER CHAPTER AND I'LL ACTUALLY POST IT SOON INSTEAD OF MONTHS LATER.  
> basically what happened was i was super depressed because i didn't have a job and then i got a job and now i have a job which actually gives me a shit ton of time to write, but i didn't want to write smut at work but then at some point i was like FUCK IT and wrote smut at work so
> 
> yes
> 
> CHEERS


	4. Chapter 4

Autumn arrives in Seabrook with a soft breeze, turning the trees warm colors and the mornings cool. Some early mornings before the sun comes up there’s even a layer of frost on Bucky’s lawn.

His house feels empty. Steve had been there just under a week and three months later it still feels like something is missing. Some _one_ is missing. Bucky ignores it for the most part. When it gets particularly bad, he’ll write a letter.

Steve writes a lot of letters, possibly to make up for the ones that Bucky received six years too late. But Steve is the most selfless bastard in the world and it makes his letters dull. They’re usually long-winded and he talks a lot about Sam, Clint, Peggy, and Natasha. As much as Bucky had enjoyed meeting Steve’s friends, he’d much rather read about Steve’s life. There’s always a clue at the end, though, something that shows Bucky where Steve’s headspace is. A few vague sentences about himself and then he signs off. There’s almost always a drawing attached. Two weeks ago it had been Steve’s apartment complex - an old building with rows of dark windows and cracked brick. He had drawn Bucky there, looking up at what was labeled as Steve, Clint, and Sam’s apartment window. Scrawled at the bottom was a title: “Bucky Visits.”

There’s a lot of talk about visiting, Bucky to New York or Steve back to Seabrook, but neither can spare the time from work, so it’s wishful thinking more than anything else.

Steve hasn’t written a letter in a week now, the longest he’s gone without communicating.

Bucky can feel the darkness closing in, some days worse than others. After the war, he had returned and was forced to stifle all trauma for his father’s sake. When he passed, when there was nothing left, Bucky got low. He drank mostly, and there are weeks unaccounted for in his memory. He started work again, but it was slow. Still, it kept him distracted enough to stay above the water.

But now he can feel it again, like a fog in his mind. It clouds his vision and makes his blood run slow. Work is nearly nonexistent as the summer dies and the cool air snakes in. And Bucky finds himself one late afternoon walking toward downtown with drink on his mind.

He’s not sure why he thinks of Steve then. Steve is always in the background of his thoughts anyway, but for some reason now Steve is there and Bucky is ashamed. He stops at the entrance of the bar and imagines Steve, imagines him there and smiling and Bucky’s sure he knows. Steve has to know that he’s weak and broken and sometimes the only way to stop the nightmares, to stop the waking terror is to drown them in whiskey. But Steve is still there and he’s still smiling and Bucky feels the guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He turns around and walks to the beach. Sometimes the sound of waves is just as effective at drowning the thoughts as drinking is. Bucky goes to their spot - the only portion of beach he ever visits anymore - and sits on the rock where Steve had once sat and drawn him. Where they had kissed. And the memories of that summer push back on the ones about his friends, his comrades, dead and injured and bleeding. Missing limbs and shrapnel grenades tearing holes through them like kewpie dolls. 

Bucky blinks back the terror and focuses on the rhythmic pounding of the waves. He imagines it’s Steve’s breathing, loud and deep against his ear as he lays his head on his chest. 

A few hours must pass because it’s grown dark and the tide has dropped away revealing a myriad of broken shells by the water. Bucky starts walking home.

He’s not sure how long he can keep it up. Steve had said he plans to visit in the winter, but that could be months of waiting, of trying to stay afloat, of floundering and searching for purchase on his own.

“One day at a time,” Steve had written some weeks ago when Bucky had voiced his concerns in vague but pointed words. 

So this is one day, one Good Day, and Bucky puts it under his belt as a win because it’s all he can do. 

He sees his house in the distance and pride wells up inside. It happens from time to time, especially on Good Days. He made something. He took something bad and made it good and it was entirely his doing. It gives him hope. Despite its emptiness, it reminds him that not all good things ended with the war. Steve is proof of that, too.

It’s completely dark when Bucky reaches his house and he curses himself for not remembering to turn on the porch light. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and is trying to use what little moonlight there is to find the right one when he hears it: footsteps along the side of the house. Bucky freezes. It’s not uncommon for kids to stay out late and throw rocks at his windows, but that usually happens in the summer when the tourists and rich kids get bored. 

Bucky takes a few steps forward, determined to catch them once and for all, give them a good scare and hope they stop coming, but instead he trips and nearly falls on his face. He catches himself and then rolls to the side.

Bags? Bucky reaches out and touches one. It’s good leather, too. What the-

“You keep this place locked up way too well.”

Bucky’s heart stops and he looks behind him and it’s Steve and he’s there and he’s real.

“Steve?” Bucky breathes.

Steve lets out a laugh and puts his hand out. Bucky takes it and Steve helps him stand.

“I was going to surprise you. Sneak in, scare the shit out of you…” Steve’s smile is barely visible in the dark. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“First things first. I’m freezing. Can we go inside?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Bucky steps over the bags carefully and then realizes something. “I dropped the keys.”

“Oh. Here.” Steve reaches into his coat pocket and pulls something out. It’s a flashlight and it illuminates Bucky’s porch. Steve points it around and Bucky sees that there’s more than just one or two bags. There are five. A couple are small - the ones Bucky tripped over - but the others are pushed against the house and they’re bigger and look full to bursting.

“How long are you staying?” Bucky asks, incredulous. 

“First things first,” Steve says again. He hands Bucky the keys.

  


* * *

  


Bucky turns on the porch light and then the light in the living room while Steve starts lugging in his bags. Bucky helps and soon all of Steve’s things are in a haphazard pile by the door.

Bucky closes and locks the door and then turns to Steve. Steve puts his hand in his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a folded letter. He hands it to Bucky.

On the front is a red stamp that reads: “RETURN TO SENDER”.

“I got this the day before I left,” Steve says. “I wrote the wrong address or something. I feel like an idiot now, but what’s done is done and I wasn’t about to buy a new train ticket.”

Bucky gave him a confused look before tearing open the letter and starting to read:

_“Bucky,_

_Good news! In fact, the best news. The best news I’ll ever get, I’m sure of it because this changes everything. For you, for me, for us._

_I’ve been talking with Branger Law about transferring for almost two months now. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up or mine. Writing it down would feel too eager because I honestly had no idea if it was even possible._

_But, there’s an opening in John’s Island. It’s a drive from Seabrook, but once I get down there I’ll be able to buy a car._

_I hope it’s not presumptuous for me to want to stay with you._

_I just told Natasha and she wants to come down to help. It’ll actually be easier that way because I won’t have to travel with everything I own._

_I leave on the 20th of October and I should be there by the 24th, assuming nothing goes too wrong along the way. Write back._

_I love you,_

_Steve”_

Bucky swallows once and reads the last line again: _I love you_. He looks up at Steve who is smiling and looking a little guilty.

“I feel bad just showing up,” Steve says. “I figured you wouldn’t-”

Bucky shuts him up with a kiss and only breaks it off so he can hug him tightly around the neck. Steve hugs him back with a light laugh. 

“I didn’t want to just show up,” Steve says. “And I won’t be angry if you kick me out for being so rude.”

“Jesus, Steve, shut up.” 

“Bucky, you’re crying.”

He is. He has tears welling up in his eyes and they’ve started to fall. He wipes at them in vain. “Fuck you, no I’m not,” he chokes out.

Steve laughs and leans forward to kiss Bucky again, softer this time. 

“Natasha’ll be here in a couple days,” Steve says and wipes away a stray tear from Bucky’s face with his thumb. “She’ll only be here a week, I think. She’s actually thinking about looking for a place down here and our parents agreed to help her out if she finds one - they think she’s more likely to find a nice, southern boy down here or something.”

“Then we don’t have much time, do we?” Bucky says.

“Time?” Steve asks.

“Before Natasha shows up.” Bucky tugs at the bottom of Steve’s shirt and smirks.

Steve raises his eyebrows and smiles. “What the hell are we waiting for?”

  


* * *

  


Bucky has a lot of Good Days. The Bad Days still come, and when they do he has Steve or, if he’s really desperate and doesn’t mind being lectured, Natasha. And then it’s been years and the Bad Days are just Bad Memories, a reminder that at one point, Bucky’s life wasn’t as good as it is now because now his life is nearly perfect.

Nearly perfect because Steve and Bucky fight. Steve wants Bucky to stop working because he’s going to hurt himself and Bucky wants Steve to shut the hell up because not everyone can get a fucking college education. Then Steve sighs angrily and shuts himself in his studio and Bucky grinds his teeth and shuts himself in his workshop, but they still fall asleep curled up together and the next day is always Good. Any day with Steve is Good, Bucky knows.

And Bucky is reminded how good they are when he starts to lose Steve, when his mind can’t keep up with his body and he forgets where he’s going, forgets where he is, forgets Bucky’s face, forgets his own. When he struggles to make it downstairs so Bucky moves him to the guest room, when he panics and cries and even worse when he doesn’t, when he’s catatonic and listless. Bucky never cries because Steve would hate that. Those are the Bad Days.

The Good Days are cherished by both. When Steve knows, when he remembers and it’s like nothing has changed, like the disease has taken a respite and Bucky gets him back, gets to hold him because he wants to be held, not because he’s trying to hurt himself and Bucky has to stop him, he is grateful.

And when it gets too much for Bucky, when the Bad Days far outnumber the Good and Bucky knows he has to ask for help, he sends him to a home where people who know more can help him. Bucky visits every day, even when he has his own Bad Days. And Bucky reads to Steve. He reads their letters to him or he’ll read Steve’s favorite books or he’ll just talk and tell stories. Steve has favorite stories, even if he doesn’t remember them. He likes stories that involve Natasha and Bucky, he likes stories about Sam and Clint. He especially likes the story of the two boys who spent one long, hot summer together on the beach. (Bucky tends to change the ending into something happier).

Good Days turn into Good Hours turn into Good Moments and Bucky treasures them all. 

One day, late in the summer when it finally cools down at night and the june bugs litter the sidewalks of the home, Bucky tells Steve the story about the two boys. Steve’s glassy eyes find Bucky’s and something changes, a switch flips and Steve is crying while he lays in bed looking weaker than ever.

“Bucky?” he says quietly and Bucky smiles because he’s not sure how long this will last.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says.

Steve smiles and tries to sit up, but Bucky stops him. Instead, he climbs into bed next to him so they’re facing one another, their foreheads touching. There’s a clarity in Steve’s eyes that makes him seem young again, like no time has passed at all, like time has stopped just for them.

Steve asks the first thing he always asks: “How long has it been?”

“Two weeks,” Bucky answers.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Buck,” he says. “I feel like there’s not enough time.”

Bucky places his thumb on Steve’s chin. “Even just a moment with you is enough.”

Steve looks at him again and a smile pulls at the side of his mouth before he closes his eyes. Bucky finds Steve’s hand under the blanket and Steve squeezes it. A minute later, Steve’s breathing goes soft and deep. Bucky closes his eyes and thinks, not for the first time, that he has been the luckiest man on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you to everyone who's read, given kudos to, bookmarked, and especially commented on this fic. It was so much fun to write and for something that started out as just a funny conversation, it became something really great, something I'm really proud of. So, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I honestly was going to make this a happy ending and it's not necessarily SAD, but jesus christ almighty I DO apologize because what the hell.
> 
> Gonna go ahead and plug my other project - I'm writing an [Avengers/Stucky Hell's Kitchen AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2395070/chapters/5293670), so read that if you wanna see more of these idiots.
> 
> I had a lot of thoughts and plot ideas that didn't quite make it into this fic, like what the hell happened to Clint and Sam? What about Natasha? Peggy? So, if you wanna know, hit me up on here in the comments or on tumblr (castiowl.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll be happy to give ALL THE DETAILS!!
> 
> Other than that, just thank you again for reading and a happy Very Late Birthday to [Rosie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/branstarked/pseuds/branstarked)~


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